


The Dragon at Kaer Morhen

by Cat_Sith (Vengeful_Dogs_Of_War)



Category: RWBY, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Gen, Grimm+Witcher Monsters, Other, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:46:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 111,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Dogs_Of_War/pseuds/Cat_Sith
Summary: Yang always like surprises, like presents, rainy days, a new dog. However, one surprise she wasn't ready for was when a Witcher invokes the law of surprise, and takes her. She finds herself at Kaer Morhen, subjected to brutal alterations and training that will forge her into something...else.Loosed upon Remnant as a Witcher, Yang must confront family, friends, and a world in which Witchers are despised, feared, hated, and still bound to help...for a price. However, rumors spread that in some regions, Witchers are being hunted by their "replacements"-huntsmen.As faunus revolt, the kingdoms wage war, and monsters arise, Yang only has one thing left to turn to: The Path, and another Witcher who walks it.





	1. Trials

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a more slow-burn work, with me taking time on the chapters and not really trying to meet a schedule or rush out another chapter. Still working on my other series, just needed a bit of a break.
> 
> This world will be a puesdo mix of Witcher and Remnant, ie Kaer Morhen/ATLAS are in one world. I'll try to follow and intermix the lore of both as best I can, but in the end that might not be possible.
> 
> Why was this made? Cause Witcher is fun and I wanted to use RWBY for characters, (Main OCs-shudder, not ever.) Besides, why not? Fanfiction is all about the good, the bad, and the crackfic, so fuck it. 
> 
> Any and all advice/comments/feedback appreciated, I want to improve my writing and my works, so don't hesitate to criticize!

He stopped in front of the homestead, a small home in the town called Patch. The chimney was bellowing smoke, and the door was cracked. He dismounted from Bishop, and grabbed the trophy. The water hag's head was bloated and swollen, the tongue extended slightly. He walked slowly over to the door, but a man emerged to meet him. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a slightly above average height. His hands were calloused, and his facial hair groomed. The tattoo on his right arm resembled a flame pattern of some kind. 

The Witcher stopped, and threw the head onto the ground between them. "Job's done. Your wife is at the local healer."

He sighed in relief, before extending his hand to shake. The Witcher didn't move. "I can't ever thank you enough for saving her. In gratitude, I'll let you name the reward." 

The Witcher stops, considering. Kaer-Morhen is only several days ride from here, easily do-able. "I invoke the law of surprise." 

Silence. Only the chickens clucking from behind the house can be heard as the man's face turns to horror. "No, absolutely not." 

The Witcher shakes his head, "Contract's done. I named my reward, pay up." 

The man's heart starts pounding, so hard even The Witcher can hear it like a drum. "I don't care, take the house, the jewelry box, our cows, anything but this." His voices raises slightly, growing panicky. 

The Witcher crosses his arms. "The law of surprise cannot be revoked." The man clenches his fists.

"No. I refuse, I won't let you just..." He starts to step forward, fists clenched. The Witcher's sword is halfway out of its sheath before the foot finishes its first step.

"Two options, you open that door and hope for the best, or attack me. I kill you, and take whatever reward I deem fitting." The man's face is a mixture of anger and helpless self resentment. He steps back, and The Witcher slides his steel blade back into the sheath. He had coated it earlier with Hanged Man's Venom, when he had decided to try and invoke the law earlier that day.

The Witcher shadows the man to the door, whose shoulders are slumped, a man resigned to his fate. The oak door is closed, and the man pushed open the door. A little girl with yellow hair and purple eyes is standing there, her face switching between the father's tear stained face and The Witcher's impassive stare. 

"Dad, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Who is the strange man?" The Witcher notes she is astute enough to sense something is wrong. She already placed her father between him and her. 

The man hugs her tight, burying his face into her hair as he sobs. The Witcher waits for a moment, before coughing. "Sweetie, Yang, my sunny little dragon, you have to go with this...thing." 

Yang's eyes switch to The Witcher, who is leaned against the door-frame. She first notes his swords, then his eyes, and finally his necklace. "Dad, why? For how long?" 

"For...for a while, sweetie." He starts stroking the back of her head as he gains some composure. Yang holds him closer, still looking at The Witcher.

"What if I don't want to go?" 

"You have to sweetie. Daddy promised." The man looks down, and his shoulder shake as he sobs some more. 

"Why?" Yang still sounds confused, her brows furrowed. 

"This...thing, saved your mother's life. I promised him anything, and he chose you." The man pried himself away from Yang. "Go pack a few things for a journey, but only a few, okay?" Yang pauses, looks at the Witcher again, before nodding. She turns and runs down the hall, her bare feet pattering on the wooden floors. 

"That isn't needed, all personal belongings are discarded at Kaer Morhen." The Witcher says, and the man waved his comment away.

"It's to give us a bit more time, to talk." The man says.

"About?" He looks into the house again, noting the family pictures. Most featured two children, one with red hair and the other being Yang.

"What are you going to do with Yang, what use do you have for little children?" He asks, before his eyes widen, "Is it entertainment? Are you going to..." The Witcher holds up a hand to stop the man.

"No. She will be trained at Kaer Morhen to be a Witcher." The man's horror grows, and he falls silent.

Footsteps sound from the hall, lighter and at a different gait. The Witcher turns as a girl in ladybug pajamas turns the corner. Her eyes are grey and baggy, she just woke up. Her hair is red and messy from sleep. She looks to her father first, before turning towards The Witcher. 

"Daddy, why is Yang packing? Are we going on a trip?" Her voice is high pitched and innocent. 

The man shakes his head and looks away for a moment. "No, go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"Oh, okay." The girl turns and walks back down the hall, slower this time. The man turns back towards The Witcher, his face angry now. 

"You see what you've caused? She will grow up without a sister now because of you, and Yang will grow up without a family, turned into some freak!" He spits each word, as if it would matter. 

The Witcher doesn't reply, there isn't a right answer. They wait in silence for another minute before Yang walks around the corner. The Witcher inspects her new attire. She had changed tight pants and a t-shirt, with hiking boots and a small backpack over her shoulders. Her face is scared, yet set. The Witcher beckons her to follow, and walks out the door. The Witcher's hands go to his lips, and Bishop walks over, her head nudging against him. 

He helps Yang into the saddle, before saddling up himself. Her pack is stowed among the saddlebags, and she sits in front of him, close to the pommel of the saddle. The Witcher flicks Bishop's reins, and she starts into a trot. Yang is thankfully silent, too busy contemplating on her situation to pester The Witcher about it, which suits him fine. 

 

_______________________

Yang looked up as the horse, Bishop he called it, trotted up to the gates of the castle. Its walls were gray and tall. Two men with twin swords stood looking over the wall, and Yang could see one or two more through the small windows in the massive towers near the back of the castle. 

"Ferial! Welcome back. Law of surprise?" One called down to The Witcher.

"Yeah." Ferial replied as Bishop trotted through the gates. 

Yang was brought into a courtyard of stone tiles, with several young men sparring on the right-hand side. Yang watched as their blades danced and clashed so fast she couldn't even see the blades, and yet each remained unharmed. On the right hand side several teenagers were doing push-ups as a older witcher walked up and down, screaming at them. Ferial dismounted, and Yang did the same. She was still in awe of the sights, and felt small and weak compared to everything around her. 

She followed Ferial up the stone steps at the back of the courtyard to an upper, smaller courtyard. Here at least 10 other men with swords were in the process or saddling or unsaddling their horses. 

"Go through that door, and ask for Reia." Ferial pointed towards a heavyset oak door on the left, before leading Bishop off by the rein. 

Yang was left alone in a courtyard full of storybook creatures. Her dad had read them a few stories on witchers. They were reapers, with magic and potions and twin swords, and they hunted monsters. Part of her was excited, she was going to be a hero from the stories! Another was cautious, the stories had also mentioned that witchers were emotionless, heartless, and not human. Yang walked through the door, and set her shoulders. Dad had promised Ferial, and Dad always knew what was right. The castle was well lit, with torches on holsters. The stone hallways were well maintained, and doors lined each hallway. 

A single witcher was walking down the hallway, wearing similar as Ferial, a black studded vest with a studded belt adorned with pouches, brown gauntlets and boots, with black chain mail shoulder pads. Twin swords adorned his shoulders, his face was expressionless as he walked towards her. His black beard was long, and his yellow eyes ignore her. Yang walked over and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me sir, I was told to find Reia, do you know where he is?" The witcher stopped and looked down at her. 

"Down this hall, take a right. You won't miss it." He walked past her without another word, before Yang could even thank him. 

Yang followed his directions, and turned right. Down the hallway there was a medium sized room, with long tables running down the length in two rows. Three witchers sat in the room, eating together, their twin blades still on their backs. Yang swallowed, and approached the first, a woman wearing similar armor, with chainmail shoulder pads and chainmail on the stomach, with hard leather on the chest. Her eyes were green and slitted, like a cat's. Her hair was red and reached her shoulders. She turned and looked at Yang, who stood there, staring back.

"Witcher brought you here." It wasn't a question, but Yang nodded. 

Reia sighed and got up, leaving behind a plate full of cooked meat, "Follow me. You'll make the choice tomorrow." 

Yang followed behind her as they walked, "The choice?"

"To follow The Path." Reia didn't elaborate, and Yang thought for a moment as they passed through the courtyard and into another section of the castle. 

"What's The Path?" Yang asked as she stepped out of the way of two older boys, who were wearing wooden swords on their backs. 

"All witchers walk The Path." Reia didn't say anything else, and Yang let the subject drop as they climbed the stairs to a second story. 

Reia led Yang to a door at the end of the hallway, and opened it. Inside a dozen other children sat, most looked around her age. "This is the initiate dorm. You will stay here till you are ready for the trials. You all will start training in a week, so use this time to start exercise." 

Yang turned to ask a question, but Reia shut the door and Yang heard her boots walking down the hallway already. She sighed and turned to face the other kids, who watched her. Some were impassive, others curious.

"Surprise?" One asked, and Yang nodded. 

She walked over to one of the last free bunks, and made to reach for her pack, only to remember Ferial hadn't returned it. Yang opened the small wooden footlocker at the base of her bed, only to find clothes, a water flask, a belt with pouches, and a book: A Practical Guide to Monsters . Yang closed the lid, before sitting on her bed and looking over the room. A girl sat in the bed opposite of her, reading the provided book. The first thing Yang noticed were the ears, sticking out of the black hair. Curious, Yang started a conversation.

"How's the book?" Yang asked, and the girl turned.

"Interesting." 

"What's it about?" 

The girl turned a page and blinked, "Monsters." 

"Witchers killing monsters?" Yang asked, stretching.

"No."

"Well what's it about then?" 

The girl looked at Yang, and she noticed the yellow eyes. "Their strengths, weaknesses, and habitats."

"Sounds boring." Yang yawned

"Not if you're training to kill them." The girl raised an eyebrow, and Yang blushed a little at her stupidity.

"Right. I'm Yang by the way, nice to meet you." She smiled at the girl, who blinked again.

"Blake. Nice to meet you too." Blake turned and began reading. Yang picked up the book in her footlocker, running a finger over the leather binding, before doing the same. She had met someone, and suddenly the castle felt a little less strange, a bit more like home. 

_________________  
(Kaer Morhen, 5 years later...)

"Up, down, up, down. Put your backs into it, a griffin won't wait for you to catch your breath." Talon screamed at them as he walked up and down the row of two dozen apprentices, all who doing pushups. 

Yang sucked in air as she pressed up again, before letting herself lower down with the rhythm. To her right Paul was pumping up and down with her, and Blake was on her left, likewise going up and down. 

"Come on! Count, damn you! Let me hear you sing whelps!" Talon said, before walking down the line again.

"441...442...443" They all chanted, and Yang added her voice to the chorus, feeling the rawness in her throat. They had counted off 500 sit ups, 1000 jumping jacks, and 200 iron men. Each iron man was a push-up to a jumping jack and down again. 

The cool morning air was crisp and seared Yang's lungs like ice fire, but she kept pumping, long used to the exercises. 

"Paul, I didn't hear that 445!" Talon said, and kicked one of Paul's arms out from under him. Paul kept rising on one hand, moving his hand to his back before continuing one handed.

They kept at it until the set was finished, and they rested on their knees in meditation pose for 30 seconds, letting their bodies recover for a moment. The dew on the grass in Kaer Morhen's courtyard was cool and a pleasant feeling on Yang's knees, which were loosely clothed. Talon inspected the apprentices for a moment, before nodding. 

"Good. Sparring, then lunch." Talon turned and grabbed a practice sword from the rack. Yang and the others drew one of the two blades they kept on their backs at all times, its wooden blade balanced carefully to mimic a true sword. 

"Pair off. Start with free-form." Talon swung his practice sword as they paired off.

Blake raised an eyebrow at Yang, who nodded. They both drew the wooden "steel" sword, and faced each other. Yang stood a few inches over Blake, who crouched low, sword hanging loose in her hand. They had dueled many times over the years, first clumsy swinging their swords and blocking with awkward angles. Now they both danced with grace and their blades twirled and sang a rough song of wood and sweat. 

Yang attacked first, striking low as Blake deflected her strike and struck back as Yang side stepped, bringing her blade down from the side, only to have Blake leapt back and come in from the shoulder with a stab, which Yang deflected. The dance was familiar, the partners old friends. Yang blocked one of Blake's overhand strikes, and counter-attacked, only to have a wooden sword slam into her knee-cap. She grunted but continued to fight as Talon stood beside her, frowning.

"Keep those hands steady, spread the feet a bit more, and be more on the balls of your feet." He said, looking over her form. He turned to Blake, who thrust only to have Yang turn and knock her blade away. Blake ducked under and away as Yang pressed her advantage.

"Your reflexes are slow and your form is slightly sloppy. Keep yourself flexible and be less defensive, Witchers must kill, not survive." He said, and Blake pushed forward, forcing Yang to sidestep and deflect before she attacked, striking downward. 

The dance continued for 2 more hours, Yang and Blake practicing with their blades until their swords felt like metal rods and their arms burned with fire. It was only 10:15 in the morning, and Yang felt herself running on fumes, maybe that was the point. As they continued a single rider rode through the gates, and Yang could see the of two swords, another Witcher returning from The Path. His armor was different, but those that walked The Path had been known to acquire new armor. Blake leaned right as Yang's practice sword sliced past her, before launching into another attack, which Yang deflected. 

The rider didn't go up the stairs to stable his horse, instead he dismounted in the first courtyard, and walked to the base of the stairs leading upward. 

"Grandmaster!" He shouted to the walls of the keep, "Come forth!" 

Yang turned and sheathed her wooden sword, her fellow apprentices did the same. Talon didn't reprimand them, having himself turned towards the upstart. Yang hadn't even seen The Grandmaster, and had never heard of anyone summoning him like a servant. Several other Witchers stopped and stared, arms crossed and expressions neutral. Yang looked him over as her instructors had taught her to. He was medium height, well muscled but not huge, wearing different armor, which had several dents in the shoulder plates and scratches on the chest. His brown hair was shaggy and ill-groomed, kept in a ponytail. A scar ran down his right cheek, and a pinky on his left hand was missing. 

There was silence for a minute, until the doors to the keep opened and a man walked out. His hair was jet black, his face was clean shaven, with a strong chin and hard eyes. His armor had studded straps over metal shoulder plate, with chain mail pads extending down to cover most of his upper arms, a belt with a pouch ran diagonal over his armor near the chest. Two chain-mail plate pieces were on his stomach sides, covering towards the front and connected with studded straps. Leather pads protected his upper thighs, and metal greaves reach his knees. Two swords stood over his shoulder, and The Grandmaster stopped at the top of the stairs. 

"Jorun of the Cat school." His voice was hard as steel, yet slightly raspy to Yang's ear. 

"Grandmaster of the Wolf school." Jorun stood there, impassive. 

"What reason have you summoned me for?" He asked the question with a tone that indicated he already knew the answer. 

Jorun crossed his arms. "I challenge you." 

The Grandmaster didn't even blink. "What grounds." 

"Dereliction of duty." Several Witchers began to murmur among their small groups as the assembled watched. 

"With what evidence?" There was a chill in those words, a subtle edge that caused Yang to shiver. 

"A dragon just attacked Patch." Yang's heart stopped, Ruby! Her sister was barely a memory, yet a small part of her still remembered, and cared. "A Wolf school Witcher was there, and didn't help. I killed the beast myself, then the Witcher." He fished into his shirt and pulled out something that glinted, before tossing it to The Grandmaster.

Yang saw the symbol of the Wolf on its chain as it spun towards the Grandmaster, who caught it one handed. Silence filled the courtyard, a Witcher killing another Witcher was universally despised, though it did happen occasionally. Jorun stood still as the Grandmaster turned the medallion over in his fingers, before looking down at Jorun. Yang could feel the weight of the stare from 40 meters away. 

"Who?" He asked, and Jorun shrugged. 

"Don't know. Had a chestnut mare, bald, one eye missing." A few Witchers reacted to that.

"Oliver." 

"Said that you didn't hunt dragons. Witchers are supposed to hunt monsters, you have failed your duty as Grandmaster by teaching this school not to." Jorun shifted his weight to one side and waited. 

The Grandmaster walked down the steps, his footsteps carrying over the hush that had filled the courtyard. "I accept." 

Jorun drew his sword, and The Grandmaster did the same. Jorun used Aard, Yang had studied the signs, although they didn't have the skill to use them yet. The Grandmaster leapt side-ways, and Axii was already being cast as he leapt. Jorun shook his head and his sword dropped a fraction as he fought off the effects. The Grandmaster sprung forward, and Jorun sidestepped at the last second, before attacking himself. The Grandmaster moved with a speed that Yang couldn't track, knocking his blade aside and blasting Jorun with Aard, which sent him flying into the stairs. 

His head hit with a crack, and Jorun was stunned for a moment, only a second. That second gave The Grandmaster the time he needed to grab and throw a bomb. Yang recognized Samum when it exploding in a flash of blinding light, leaving Jorun blinded for a second. The Grandmaster's blade closed the distance in a second, and Jorun's head sailed clear, landing in the grass. His body slumped to the stairs, and The Grandmaster sheathed his blade, before turning towards the majority of the assembled Witchers. He held up the Cat's Medallion, its silver glinting in the light of the early morning sun.

"Witchers do not hunt intelligent creatures, we hunt monsters. Humans, Faunus, Dragons, Higher Vampires, Witchers. Do not attack them unless attacked or under extreme circumstances. Am I clear?" He said, not expecting an answer as he began to walk towards the keep once more.

"Strip the body for his gear, then burn it. No burial." He shut the keep door, and Yang watched as the Witchers around her turned and slowly got back to work. Death was a part of life, of the job, and Yang saw she would have to get used to it. It was the first, but the not last, she would see.

 

____________________  
(Kaer Morhen, 4 years later...) 

 

A boot woke Yang up, and she was crouched on the floor with Quen up before her mind could even recognize the Witcher Instructor Kelia, their woodcraft instructor. Around her, other instructors were likewise waking up apprentices. The room was dark, but Yang's eyes easily adjusted, and saw the shapes of the others gearing up around her. 

"Up, courtyard, 5 minutes." Kelia said before turning to leave with the other instructors. Yang swore softly, and lit her bedside candle with Igni.

Yang opened her trunk and began dressing in the basic Kaer Morhen armor provided for them last year after they had each passed each instructor's test. Yang had to brew Swallow, Cat, and Beast oil in front of the instructors, before reciting every single potion, decoration, oil, mutagen, and bomb recipe. She grimaced with the memory as she strapped a shoulder chain-plate on. Blake, Neo, Ryan, Paul, and her had spent many days sitting in the old library studying the recipes and testing each other. Next she had to cast each sign as they were called, at random, within a second. Her fingers had ached for days as she practiced. The instructors, the heartless bastards they were, then had Yang recite each monster's weaknesses, strengths, habitats, and uses in alchemy. Those that missed one answer or sign were sent back to re-test in a month, until they got it right. She finished strapping her belt on and began loading it with the selection of bombs and potions that she made throughout her training. The final test was a surprise, a alghoul was released into the small room, and Yang was forced to react on instinct, using Axii to stun the beast and giving her the time to behead it with her silver sword. Her reward had been basic armor and pouches, as well as the start of hunting actual monsters, now that she had proven herself knowledgable enough to stand a chance against a drowner. Two apprentices, Morgan and Lily, had died to their alghouls. Of course, after they had passed the test and proved themselves mentally ready, the Trial of the Grasses took place, and many more died.

The Trial had started when she was 11, when the instructors had deemed her physical and mental health strong enough to undergo the trials. Blake, Neo, Paul, Ryan, Kelly, and Irelia survived the process, 16 died. Yang didn't remember much, being strapped to a table, and looking over to where Blake lay. Their eyes had met, and then the infusions started. 10 days of hell, of dreaming incoherent nightmares and feeling raw pain with no real thought, only for Yang to awaken thrashing and frothing at the mouth on the 11th. She nearly bit through her tongue, and Neo did. Unable to speak, The Grandmaster had consulted with the mages in charge of the trials, before deciding to let her continue to walk The Path. Yang had stared into her reflection for two hours, her purple eyes were still purple, but they resembled a viper's. She was lucky, Kelly's eyes had gone white, and her face held a haunting demeanor. 

She looked into a bottle, seeing those same eyes staring back at her. Yang finished collecting her potions, oils, and bombs quickly, and slid her steel sword, Ember, into its sheath. Cellica, her silver sword, followed. Blake set her hand on Yang's shoulder, and Yang turned and nodded. Blake always knew when she was feeling a bit rough, and when a touch or smile would perk her up. She followed Blake and the others down the hallways, everyone talking quietly to friends or comrades. Yang turned to Blake, her first and closest friend.

"What test do you think it'll be this time?" Yang asked as they rounded a corner and began down the stairs at a jog. 

"Won't be drowners, we've already destroyed one nest. Probably a golem." Blake said, her ears lowered slightly in anticipation.

"No, we've dealt with them before, Paul's leg was broken that time, right? I bet its a griffin, I heard two Witchers talking about how one might have taken up residence nearby." Yang speculated as they all exited the side tower and stepped into the upper courtyard. 

Three instructors, Talon, Kelia, and Brandon were waiting for them, swords on their backs and fully armored. The rest of the courtyard was empty, and most torches weren't lit. The rest of the apprentices, all 7, gathered in front of them, a row of black leather and chain-mail. Everyone knew a few more would die before the end, and each prayed it wouldn't be them. 

"Apprentices, tonight you leave on contracts. We will each take a third of you to hunt down a beast and you will slay it, working together for now." Talon said quietly, as the hush of the night and the flicker of the torch he held carried.

Neo, Paul, and Irelia were paired with Talon, and Brandon took Kelly and Ryan. Yang and Blake were paired with Kelia, a shorter woman with black hair and red eyes, a side-effect of her mutations. Her armor was the superior version of the Kaer Morhen armor, and she carried herself with an air of faint impatience. She dropped the torch as they made towards the stables, and Yang's eyes adjusted, giving her passable night vision. The trial of the Dreams would supposedly give her near perfect sight in the dark.

They mounted up in silence, and rode out the gates, Yang guiding one of the borrow horses after Kelia's horse, Buckwell. They rode under the moon for 4 hours, upon which they came upon a small collection of huts. Yang didn't recognize the village, since it was too small to bother putting on a map. A man walked out to greet them, he was tall, well built, and wore leather gloves, Yang guessed he was a lumberjack. 

"Well met, Witchers." He said, raising a hand in greeting. Yang dismounted with Blake and Kelia. 

"You posted a contract for a creature." Keila stated. The man nodded slightly before speaking.

"Aye, that I did. T'was o, t'round a fortnight past when Lelokil went missing. We went a looking fore him, and when we finally found him, we wished we hadn't." The man looked away, and shuddered. 

"Can you describe the body?" Keila pressed, politely. 

"T'were no body. Just piles n piles o raw meat, and oh god, the blood. T'was everywhere, like a butcher's shop, only it'ere Lelokil laying there, not some farm swine. Claw marks and shredded bits everywhere. I ain't never been as scared nor disgusted by anything else like it. Downright unnatural, the beast is." The man said, and Yang looked at Blake, who raised an eyebrow. 

"Where was the body? Can you take us there?" Keila asked, and the man nodded. 

"Aye, I can take you over in the morn, and nary a second earlier." The man crossed his arms, and Keila sighed. Yang agreed with the man, it sounded like a vampire, and you don't want to face them in the dark. 

"Very well." She turned to Yang and Blake, "Stable the horses, I'll start to bargain for a price."

Yang grabbed her horse and Buckwell's reins, leading them into the stable, and Blake brought her horse in. Yang smiled at her, her ears went flat as she looked past Yang. The clouds above had finally released their load, and rain pattered down outside the small roofed stable. Blake's ears were flat, and she shook her head. 

"Keila can stay in there by herself, I'm not walking into that." She said, brushing a few bits of hay aside as she began to kneel to the floor in preparation to meditate. 

Yang raised an eyebrow, "That scared of a little water? I hope you never run into drowners again." She began to also kneel in front of Blake, drawing Cellica and placing it at her knees, before watching Blake do the same with Shroud. 

Blake glared at her, the faunus eyes having remained unchanged. The master alchemists had excluded the cocktail that changed them from her Trial, as it was unneeded. "I can still fight, but I don't place myself in unfavorable situations, like any Witcher should." A bit of defensiveness crept into her voice. 

Yang closed her eyes and began to slip away into the trance, as they had taken to calling it. "Touchy." She murmured.

She breathed in, and her heart slowed. Yang let out a breath, and began to draw upon her memories. Training against "monsters", that were their instructors wielding different simulative weapons had been the first time Yang had fought a "vampire". Neo and Kelly were the only ones to kill it on the first try, with Blake failing to dodge an invisible claw strike, and Yang being impaled after missing a dismemberment. Next were the lessons, with one of the older Witchers, Vesemir, reciting on and on from one of the ancient texts, about the weaknesses of vampires, their origin, and other trivia that would probably save Yang's life if she remembered it. So she meditated, and let the memories come back, vivid and clear. 

Yang breathed out again, and opened her eyes to the morning sun, feeling as if no time at all had passed, and also as if she had re-lived months of lessons and practices. Blake opened her eyes in front of Yang, their striking yellow meeting her's. Blake blinked, before grabbing Shroud and rising. Yang grabbed Cellica and did the same. 

"Are you ready?" Keila was walking over, with the man in tow. Yang noted the extra lithe grace in her stride, obviously she had also stretched and meditated in preparation. 

Yang and Blake both nodded, before following Keila and the man into the woods. The forest was lush, with bushes and leaves adorning the ground, berries and other fruits ripening everywhere Yang looked. Squirrels and other woodland fauna's footprints and calls sounded in Yang's ears, but she didn't hear anything remotely like a vampire. A few ravens, crows, and pine thrushes bickered in a nearby tree. 

"Lelokil said he had to grab some berries for his young'uns. Poor sods, no ma or pa now. His body should be just t'over there in that cave. I'll go no further." The man said, and Keila nodded.

"Leave. We have work to do." Keila walked towards the cave, Yang and Blake followed. As they approached, they saw some claw marks on the rocks surrounding the cave, where gashes had been cut into the rock in random patterns. 

Yang walked over and knelt, tracing a finger over one such gash. It was about an inch deep, 2 centimeters wide, and long. Keila also knelt, inspecting a splatter of blood and guts on the rocks about a meter from where Yang knelt. 

"Yang, what have you found?" Keila asked, prodding the gut pile. Blake walked over to another rock and knelt, examining something Yang couldn't see. 

Yang pursed her lips and considered. "Looks like Katakan marks, certainly looks enraged enough, perhaps marking its territory?" 

Keila walked over from where she knelt, and examined a few of the marks on the cave's entrance, where the scratches covered the walls, bits of stone littered on the floor. "Interesting..." She mumbled to herself, running a finger through the grooved stone, and turning towards where Blake was rummaging through what sounded like a travel pack. 

"Blake, find Lelokil's sack?" Keila asked, and Blake turned and tossed it to her, a few letters spilling out, along with some berries and a small hunter's knife. Yang picked up a letter as Keila did the same. A crow squawked in the distance and flew to a nearby tree. 

The letter was Lelokil alright, his broken english handwriting sloppily professing love to some woman, begging her to come and raise his children with him. Yang discarded the note, and Keila finished reading hers just as another pine thrush screeched. She looked up at the noise, and her eyes narrowed. Yang's medallion, another reward for surviving the Trial of the Grasses, inched slightly left. She looked around and saw nothing, and a small breeze blew in, explaining the disturbance. 

"Draw your blades." Her tone was quiet and rushed, but very urgent. Yang rose and wordlessly drew her silver blade, Cellica. Shroud cleared Blake's sheath in the same instance, and Blake's ears twitched nervously as she looked into the cave. 

"Yang, what do you expect to find down in that cave?" Keila asked, backing slowly towards the entrance, her silver blade raised. 

Yang surveyed her surroundings as she had been taught, calm yet filled with adrenaline. "Katakan, perhaps two." Keila didn't answer her, instead turning to Blake, "Blake, your opinion?"

"Alp, the love letters wouldn't be for a Katakan, and there was no local witch mentioned." Blake stepped up beside Yang.

Keila shook her head, "You both would've died for sure if you had gone into that cave, though you still might. It isn't a Katakan, those claw marks are fake. Katakan claws keep growing, and a cut that size would belong to a young male, except the depth would match that of a century old male."

Yang frowned, the severity of what was happening setting in. "Red Herrings laid by a vampire, intelligent, seductive. Lesser Higher Vampire, Bruxa." She surmised, and Blake nodded her agreement. 

Keila nodded as she drank a potion, before passing one to Blake and another to Yang. "Exactly. It's not an Alp, because Bruxae are the solitary of the two, as well as the multiple birds. Signs of a Bruxa lair nearby, and with only a rural backwater nearby, it makes sense. Drink those."

Yang nodded, recognizing The Black Blood potion in her hands, she was carrying one herself, and Blake was too. "Stronger brew?" 

"Best brew, I can't risk you using just what you've made, otherwise you'd both die, and so would I. We all are still likely going to die, but I want to tip the scales as much as I can. There are few things a Witcher never hunts, ever. A Bruxa on her home turf is one of them." Keila said, scanning the ground around them cautiously, and Yang scanned the trees, before popping the potion stopper and drinking. She gasped and her muscles seized as fire ran through her veins, she could feel her own blood boiling inside her, her vision swarm for a second as her breathing became ragged. Her chest felt like it was in a vice grip, before the pains slowly faded, her vision returning to normal. Yang saw Blake likewise recovering, her skin black and blue as the potion pushed both their toxicity limits to the maximum, there would be no swallow for this fight. 

"Then why are we about to hunt it?" Blake asked the obvious question, palming a Moon Dust bomb. Keila grimaced, her eyes darting from the cave to the trees. 

"We aren't, It's already hunting us. Invisible. Remember how your medallions shifted? Mine did too, at the exact same time. It's already out of the cave, and watching us." Keila palmed a bomb, and Yang braced herself to cast Quen as they scanned the tree's. 

A snarl from the tree's to Yang's left, and they all three turned, swords raised. A tree branch rose back into place as the Bruxa pushed off, leaping towards another tree and losing herself in the bushes. Blake spun as another snarl came from right behind her, throwing the Moon Dust bomb at the floor. It hit and shattered, sending silver dust flying everywhere in a medium radius, but no creature appeared. They sat still for a moment, tense as the breeze rustled leaves and branches around them. Yang calmed her breathing and fell back into her training. Keila paused for a fraction of a second, and threw the bomb at their feet. 

The silver powder coated the air, and attached itself to the outline of a tall figure standing right behind Blake and Yang, snarling as it lunged. Yang turned, her finger's already dancing as she cast Quen, only to have it shattered the second after as the Bruxa, a foot away from her, slammed a claw into the shield. Yang leapt backwards as Blake attacked the back of the now barely visible vampire. It turned almost immediately, and blocked Blake's strike with a fore-arm, only to screech in pain as the oil burned its skin slightly. It retaliated immediately, a clawed arm slicing up-wards as Blake leapt back. The claws still caught her chin, drawing blood as Blake staggered back from the force of the blow. 

The Bruxa hissed and Yang moved, Cellica raised overhead as she leapt towards its turned back. It side-stepped as the blade came down, slicing at Yang's mid-section with a clawed hand. Yang ducked and side-stepped, slashing at the arm of the Bruxa. It spun and attacked with a flurry of slashes. Yang cast Igni as it charged, hoping to drive it back. It leapt over the spray of flames, the silver on its invisible body glinting from the flames as Yang dodged side-ways, a fraction too slow, and one clawed hand cut through the chain-plate on her right shoulder, leaving long gashes that burned as the Bruxa landed on two legs, before spinning away from Keila's slash and leaping at Yang again. 

Yang rolled to her left, springing to her feet as the Bruxa was already charging again, its claws thrusting toward's her stomach. Yang wouldn't be able to dodge in time, so she brought Cellica up and cut at the arm. The Bruxa's hardened skin resisted the strike, leaving only a shallow gash in the wrist as the arm was pushed to Yang's left. The Bruxa drove her other claw into Yang's thigh, and she grunted in pain as the Bruxa made to bite down. Keila saved her life, with Aard blasting the Bruxa away towards a nearby tree. The claws embedded in Yang's thigh were torn free, leaving a very deep gash that caused Yang to gasp and fall to one knee, dropping Cellica as her leg gave out. 

Yang looked at where Keila and Blake, who were still attacking the Bruxa. Blake slashed at its head as it struck the tree, the Bruxa ducked under the blade and clawed through Blake's chest armor, leaving three deep gashes in her stomach before Blake rolled away, her ears lowered in pain as she gasped. Blake grabbed a grapeshot bomb and threw as she rolled away. The Bruxa recoiled and staggered as it exploded, giving Keila an opportunity to strike. Her blade was fast, faster than either Blake or Yang's, The Trial of the Dreams giving her another edge in reflexes. The Bruxa ducked, and Keila slammed her knee into its throat, before casting Axii. The Bruxa staggered for a second, before lashing out in a whirlwind of cuts. Keila ducked and weaved, casting Quen a second before a claw tore into her face. It staggered backwards as the shield exploded, and Keila spun. Her blade cut deep across its chest, leaving a large cash and causing the beast to shriek in pain. Keila ducked under a claw swipe and went in again with a stab. 

The Bruxa side-stepped and grabbed Keila's arm, claws digging through the glove and into the flesh as Keila grunted in pain, the force of the grip breaking the very bone, Yang's enhanced hearing picked up the gruesome snap. Keila dropped her silver sword, and the Bruxa bit down hard onto her shoulder, teeth sinking into her neck, and Keila gasped and struggled weakly. The Bruxa drove another claw into Keila's stomach, the claw twisted and chain-mail broke. Blood flowed from the wounds, and down the Bruxa's chin as it backed away, with Keila collapsing on the forest floor, blood already pooling and staining the grass a dark black. The air hung heavy as smoke curled up from the grass, the black blood burning it. 

Yrden appeared on the ground, Yang knew Keila had set the trap. Her own finger's danced and power flowed through her digits as Yang cast Axii, causing the forcibly corporeal Bruxa to stand still. Its white, leathery skin was turning a rotten yellow and black as the toxins raced through its veins, poisoning and searing its organs. Black blood dribbled down its chin, searing it as Blake staggered over and swung Shroud, the blade tearing through the severely weakened skin and severing the beast's head. It's eyes glazed over, and the body fell to the floor next to Keila, who was fading in and out. 

Yang tried to stand again, but her leg gave out and sent her to her knees again. Grass swirled and swam as her vision danced, impaired through the continued blood loss in her thigh. Yang grunted and lay on her back, reaching for her belt. She had to close the wound, if even that risked an over-dose on potions. Supposedly if you ever did overdose on potions, the death was similar to the Trial of the Grasses, days of un-ending agony and spasms until your bones broke and pierced the skin, your seizures causing internal hemorrhages as organs failed and your brain went catatonic.  
Her blood stained fingers brushed against Swallow on her belt, the unique nub pattern on each stopper serving the only purpose Yang added it for, this very situation. 

"Gotta...close the wound..." She mumbled to no-one in particular as her eyes dilated to the point of blindness and her body began to feel numb. A sharp pain grew in her chest, one that Yang tried to cling to as she slipped away, but failed


	2. Age of Mistrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang completes her trials, and begins to walk the path. When she returns to Kaer Morhen, she finds everything has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't alot to go on as far as Trials or witcher school lore, so I filled it in best I could, if you have any thoughts on the additions please let me know!

Yang blinked slightly, and breathed in, the crisp air a welcome sensation. She was laying on the grass, and her body hurt all over. Yang looked up, and saw the moon, so she had been asleep at least several hours. A hand held her down as she tried to rise, and Blake looked her in the eye before shaking her head. 

"You were in bad shape for a while there, take it easy." Blake said, quickly giving Yang a once over, before nodding.

Yang ignored the advice and moved to a sitting position, her insides screamed. She grimaced, riding back to Kaer Morhen was going to be a bitch. The bleeding had stopped, which was a plus. Yang ran her hand over her shoulder, feeling the fresh scars underneath the torn chain-mail. Blake knelt next to Yang, pressing her hand against Yang's thigh. The hand was warm and smooth as Blake traced the jagged cut that ran along Yang's outer thigh. 

"You should be good, swallow did its job, and managed to not kill you in the process. Overall you should be lucky you got off so easy." Blake said, helping Yang lean back against a log near the fire she had burning in the woods. Keila was laying next to the fire, bandaged and asleep. Her armor had been heavily damaged, and was still covered in blood, the cracks and tears not yet repaired. 

Yang took a long look at their instructor, her chest piece held a huge gaping hole from where the Bruxa had driven her hand into Keila's stomach. There were scratches and other marks all over, and the black blood had burned most of the leather away over the course of the night. "Keila isn't looking good." Yang leaned against the log, setting her arm on a raised nub as the other rested on her knee. 

"Think she'll pull through?" Witcher's had superb healing abilities, but even they had limits. If those claws had mangled Keila's organs as bad as Yang suspected, even a Witcher's ability to recover might not repair the damage. 

Blake sighed, before staring into a fire. "Probably not. Gave her swallow already, 2 doses, right after a white honey." Yang sat there, looking at the fire.

She shifted her other arm to rest both on her knees. "Shame." She sighed and watched Keila's chest rise and fall slowly. Blake sat down next to Yang, stretching her legs out before grabbing Shroud and a whetstone. Yang listened to the stone grind against the blade, sharpening it.

"It's not right. She should be the one sharpening a sword while one of us lay dying." Yang listened to the faint and slow beat of Keila's heart, watching the flames flicker in the clearing. 

"The careless become corpses." Blake repeated the mantra their instructors had repeated at them for years, at every sparring session, every crafting lesson, every test. Blake mumbled it like a prayer, she was just as shaken as Yang was. 

"She wasn't careless." Yang said, drawing Cellica, before carefully grabbing a rag and solvent. A few drops on the rag and the vampire oil began to slid off into the grass as Yang cleaned. Another lesson, stabilize the wounded, then tend to your kit lest you wish to join them.

"Neither were we, yet we all almost died. Its part of The Path." Blake said, setting a hand on Yang's shoulder, and she turned and smiled at Blake, nodding thanks. 

"Pretty shitty job description." Yang said, and Blake snorted 

"The travel package is pretty all encompassing." Yang smiled, and finished cleaning her blade. Returning it to her sheath, Yang set out a tiny potion bowl over the fire, and began to brew another Swallow. They sat in silence for a minute.

"So," Yang asked, "should we deal with the Bruxa corpse tomorrow?" Blake sheathed her blade and thought for a moment.

"I'll collect our pay and horses if you clean her wounds and harvest anything useful from the Bruxa." Blake said, and Yang nodded. The moon rose higher, and the flames of their fire began to die down. 

Yang collected her finished swallow potion, fully stocked on healing potions Yang began to put her gear away. She stopped as Blake set a hand on her shoulder, the hand squeezed in reassurance. "We survived, completed the contract." 

"Yeah, it was an adventure." Yang forced herself to put Keila out of her mind. Every Witcher knew the risks, that every day death could come and quietly and unceremoniously haul them into that howling dark. 

"Here's to surviving all our adventures." Blake said as her eyes closed and the trance took hold.

"And that our Paths might always cross and lead us to good health." Yang said, slipping into her own trance, a deeper, more curative trance. 

Keila did not wake up that morning, a claw had tore open her appendix. Blake stripped the Witcher of her gear, before placing the body on a make-shift pyre. The villagers brought some firewood, happy to help bury what would surely become their local hero or patron saint in a few years. Yang stood by the pyre, holding Keila's swords in one hand. Every villager was there, their faces solemn yet awestruck, they were stepping into a world they couldn't even dream about. 

A small breeze blew through the clearing, and Yang turned towards Blake. She was silent, her head tilted in respect. "Light it." Blake nodded, and flicked her hand. Flames emerged from the wood, licking Keila's armor as the smoke grew and the flames rose higher. 

They watched for a few minutes, as The Witcher burned. The villagers eventually dispersed, having fields and shops to tend to. The woods around them faded into silence as the tree's swayed less and the animals fled the smoke. Blake and Yang waited until the flames died and Keila was nothing but ash. Yang stepped forward, and stopped. Words entered her mouth, demanding to be spoken.

"Here lies a witcher whose path is at an end. Her journey was long, and her blades skilled. The world won't weep at her loss, yet it should." Yang swallowed, and cast Aard, sending the ashes scattering into the forest, before turning to mount the horses.

The ride to Kaer Morhen was filled with silence, there was nothing that needed saying.  
___________________  
(Kaer Morhen, 3 years later...)

Yang turned 18, along with most of the remaining apprentices. Neo, Blake, Kelly, and Ryan were the only ones left. Paul had died to a Noonwraith 2 years ago when he missed a bomb throw, Ireila had been ambushed by a group of bandits, who hadn't been content with just killing her. Now there was only one thing left for all of them, The Trial of the Dreams. 

They all stood, fully armed in Kaer Morhen's courtyard as the sun rose behind them. Several witchers were preparing to return to the path after returning to speak with the Grandmaster. Yang recognized a few of the more renowned witchers. Eskel, his brown hair and scarred visage was currently checking his saddlebag. 6 years ago he had taught them about applying runes to their blades. Then there was Ferial, who Yang still remembered from her childhood recruitment, as he trotted past them towards the gate of Kaer Morhen. The door to the keep opened, and two men emerged in deep discussion. The first was The Grandmaster, his hard look still just as unyielding, though his tone was much more amiable towards the second, who Yang recognized immediately as Geralt, The White Wolf. He had been into Kaer Morhen off and on over the course of their training, and had once given a lesson on alternative sign forms.

Geralt handed something to The Grandmaster, who stored it in a pocket before approaching them. "Apprentices, two things can happen today, you will either die or become full witchers. I could say that I am proud, or that you have done well, but you haven't." A few centimeter shifts in weight at that comment. Yang wasn't surprised, The Grandmaster treated 200 year old witchers like dirt, apprentices probably weren't even visible to him unless it was today. 

"You have survived so far, which is what is expected of a witcher. You have performed your job, as witchers do. Do so today, and do so on the path." The Grandmaster turned and walked into the keep, and nobody moved. 

Geralt stood with his arms crossed on a nearby wall, "You should probably follow him." He said, amused. 

Yang and the others did, and The Grandmaster took them to a new wing of the castle, deep within the main keep of Kaer Morhen. Yang watched as the stones grew older, the metal torch holders more rusted, and the air grew stale. Most room's doors had rotted, exposing the various storehouses of weapons, armor, food, and other supplies. Neo ran her hand over the wall for a time, before inspecting the dust on it. 

The Grandmaster stopped in front of a massive door, which was studded with metal and looked to be reinforced. They all stopped, apprehensive. Yang wondered if The Trial of the Dreams was beyond this door, as no witcher had spoken of the trial to them. 

"This, isn't your trial. Its something far more important: a monument." The Grandmaster said, before opening the door, and stepping inside. 

Yang followed Kelly into the room, and just stood for a second, not sure what she was seeing. It was a massive room, filled with rows from the floor to the ceiling. Each row held only one item: Wolf Medallions, hundreds of them filled the room. Some were scratched, other's faded in shine, but there were hundreds, if not thousands. Nobody spoke, nor dared to move farther into the room. 

The Grandmaster placed a new medallion down on a far row, before turning to them. "This is a monument, to every witcher who has walked the path since time immemorial. Each medallion here contains a piece of them, their memories, their sacrifice." He brushed a finger against one.

"I trained them all, watched them fail to return, and later discovered how each of them died." He fixed them all with a look of ice, "this world isn't any friendlier to monster or their hunters now than it was thousands of years ago." A few of them looked at each other, wondering if what he was saying was true. 

Yang decided to ask the question, "Are you really the first witcher?" The Grandmaster looked at her, before walking towards them. As he grew closer, Yang felt her medallion start to twitch, then it began to shake as he stared at her from a meter away. 

"I am. Like every witcher who enters this room, you have earned truth. I discovered the trials 1490 years ago, after the first conjunction when I arrived here alongside monsters, and humans. I performed the experiments on myself, gathering various plants, extracts, and magic techniques to test. 10 years of constant experimenting, having my bones torn out of my skin, liquidated, shattered, organs dissolved, ruptured, discolored, poisoned as I tested. I saw the chaos of the world, and knew that the monsters needed to be culled, yet also knew that ordinary elves and humans, the other arrivals who weren't completely destructive, couldn't do it. So I tested, for years, until I had the trials completed." The Grandmaster looked at an ancient medallion, before continuing.

"They didn't work on humans or elves, so I turned to mages in the fledgling human societies. Some accepted and decided to help, as monsters at that time constantly laid siege to every village. They took children, orphans from the attacks, and experimented. It took years, in that time I found an abandoned elvish ruin, and restored it with some help from other likeminded men. The mages moved in, completed their research over the century, and soon we started training witchers. Children were offered in those days, sacrifices to keep civilization alive. Other schools emerged once some mages left to create their own schools, and eventually the monsters receded as a tide of mutant silver swept across Remnant. Today, the war still wages, and witchers are still needed. So when you walk into your trial, remember that you are continuing what all of them," He gestured to the rows

"died for. To dishonor that sacrifice, isn't just barbaric, its not professional. That's what you will be, professionals." The Grandmaster brushed past them all without another word, and motioned for them to follow.

"If that's true, you know what that means, right?" Yang whispered to Neo, who raised an eyebrow and nodded. Blake leaned in on Yang's right,

"Yeah, The Grandmaster is a higher vampire. Makes sense in a way." Blake whispered as they all stepped into a basement hallway. "It would takes years to build/restore Kaer Morhen, establish a training regimen, discover monster weakness, and someone would have to keep everything consistent through the years." 

"Each of you, pick a room. Emerge witchers, or not at all." The Grandmaster said, before brushing past them on the way back up. Yang's medallion didn't so much as twitch. 

Each door was identical, so Yang picked the door closest to her. The room was small, and a lone mage sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing a blue robe with the hood pulled up. The room was bare save a mat, which lay empty in front of the mage. The mage didn't move, and Yang sat down, assuming a traditional witcher meditation pose. 

"Apprentice, are you ready to proceed?" The mage asked, her voice clear yet disjointed, the words echoing as if in a massive cave. 

"I am." Yang said, trying to calm her beating heart. 

"Then relax your mind and allow me to enter." Yang exhaled and relaxed, slipping into a semi-trance as the mage waited. A single dark skinned hand emerged, and touched Yang's forehead. Suddenly Yang plummeted into the deepest trance she had ever been in. She opened her eyes, and looked down at rough and calloused bare hands. 

Yang tried to speak, comment or ask a question to nobody in particular, but no sound emerged. Instead, she knelt and examined a corpse. It was human, wearing crudely hammered iron, with its belly torn open. Blood everywhere, the man had died in horrible pain. 

"No sign of the other body." Yang mumbled to herself, in a voice that was male and gruff.

She was reliving a memory of a previous witcher. He turned and inspected the grass near the body. "Trampled, large claws." 

He looked back at the body, and knelt next to it. "Interesting... puncture wound, infected already. Forktail?" 

Yang watched as he turned and began to follow the blood trail through the plains, tall grass reaching his knees, the blood coated several stalks as the beast flew overhead with the still bloody carcass. The Witcher drew his blade, and began to coat it in draconid oil. Yang heard cawing as he walked further along the blood-trail. 

"Birds, possibly found the body, or the lair." He muttered before sheathing his oiled blade and continuing on. 

The forktail was perched on a rock out-cropping, a body in-between its claws. Rubbing its snout into the body, it screeched at the ravens before continuing to feast. Yang watched as The Witcher made a mistake, he didn't drink Golden Oriole to combat the poison, rather instead he walked forward and threw a grapeshot bomb. The bomb arched and struck the forktail on its right shoulder, exploding and sending shrapnel into its shoulder and into the sky. Several birds fell from the sky, impaled as the rest of their flock scattered. 

The forktail screeched and surprised both Yang and The Witcher by launching itself off the cliff face, plummeting towards them both at high speeds. The witcher rolled, but not fast enough to get out of the way, an extended wing slamming into him. The blow sent him flying backwards, landing on his back 20 meters away he tumbled like they were taught and rolled to his feet. 

"Damn, clever bastard." He muttered, flexing a shoulder before casting Quen. 

He threw another bomb, and dove in right after the explosion, only to catch a tail in the arm. His Quen broke, and The Witcher rolled, before slicing its neck, blood coating the blade as the forktail screeched. As The Witcher prepared to cast Quen, he forgot to side-step to a safe distance. A single claw pinned him to the ground, and the forktail's tail slammed through his head, ending his life. 

Yang opened her eyes again, to be in a different Witcher, as he was burned alive by a massive lynch mob in Mistral. The next died to a Golem boulder after tripping while rolling. For 20 more Yang watched as various ancient Witchers met their fate, most of them at human hands. Yang began to understand now why people said Witchers lost their emotions in the trials, it was because each one knew exactly what fate awaited them, and exactly how much the people they died helping hated them. Yang understood at last who the real monsters in this world were. 

She awoke strapped to a table, tubes strapped into her arms and restraints on her arms and legs. The first thing she noticed was how even though there was no light in the room, she could see the cracks in each wooden beam on the ceiling above. Yang sniffed faintly, the smell of the mutagen permeating her nose with such force her eyes watered. Yang tugged on the restraints experimentally, they held tight. 

"You survived." A female voice said, and bootsteps sounded behind Yang. 

Reia stepped into view, her dual blades a familiar sight at last. Yang sighed a little before speaking, "Who else made it?" Reia drew her trophy dagger, and cut Yang loose. The blade moved as if through water, and Yang stared at it in surprise. They had all been told their final trial improved upon their reflexes even more, but the scale was staggering. 

"Go find out." Reia said as she walked over to the wall. Yang swung her legs off the wooden experiment table, her body awkward and clumsy after being bed-ridden for days. Drops of blood fell from the table, and Yang ran her finger through it, examining it with new eyes. The color was sharper, the shades of crimson more pronounced.

"Still adjusting?" Reia asked from where she knelt in meditation, and Yang turned. 

"Yeah," Yang stood up, stretching her back out and grimacing, "its a little disorienting." Reia nodded slightly before returning to silence. 

The room around Yang was familiar, it was the room in which they had survived The Trial of The Grasses. Wooden tables adorned with metal shackles were arranged in neat rows, three dozen in all. Only 2 were still in use, with Neo and Kelly remaining. Neo was thrashing violently, her screams silent as her arms and legs bucked against the metal. Yang watched in fascination as her hair continued to turn pinker in certain spots. Kelly was moaning, but her body lay still. 

Yang swallowed as she inspected the tables next to each of the formerly and currently occupied trial tables. Each was coated with instruments, vials and beakers filled with various decotions and mutagens. Tubes ran from each into Neo and Kelly's arms, with some beakers already emptied. Knives and other bloodied surgical tools were scattered in between the beakers, and Yang could see the faint scars on Neo's body from where her spasms had torn the light tunic every apprentice wore to the trials. 

"Stay strong sisters. Your path doesn't end here." Yang whispered, before turning and leaving the room that had already claimed so many would-be witchers. 

The courtyard was nearly empty, with only 4 witchers in it. Yang recognized Blake and Ryan first, both were leaning against Kaer Morhen's right wall, dressed and armored. The Grandmaster stood in the center of the courtyard, waiting. A small pile of swords lay at his feet, laid out on a small mat. His black Kaer Morhen armor was as polished and un-ornate as ever. Vesemir stood next to him, the old witcher was still wearing his armor, the leather shoulder pads and metal spiked gauntlets no longer dusty and faded, but polished and cleaned. Yang approached both with an air of reverence and quiet triumph. 12 years of hell, yet she had survived, she was a witcher.

Yang didn't kneel, bow, or salute. The Grandmaster despised wasted formality, so Yang stood loose and calmly as The Grandmaster grabbed Ember and Cellica from the pile of swords, hefting the sheathed blades easily. Yang accepted the two blades, and slung them over her back, before nodding to Vesemir and The Grandmaster.

"Thank you Grandmaster." The Grandmaster didn't react, or acknowledge that she'd spoken. Yang wondered if it was because he had done this to thousands of witchers, each who inevitably died on their path.

"Runes have been added to each blade. For the steel: Fire and Igni runes. On the Silver, Quen and Sign runes." Yang bowed her head in gratitude.

"May fortune follow you on the path." Vesemir said, and Yang nodded at him.

"Thank you Master Vesemir." Yang turned and walked towards Ryan and Blake, who nodded as she approached. 

Ryan's hair had grown a darker shade of black, but otherwise he had largely emerged unscathed. Blake likewise hadn't really changed as far as Yang could tell. Her ears were twitching more than normal, perhaps still adjusting to the increased sensitivity. 

"You made it." Ryan said as Yang approached. He set his large hand on her shoulder. 

"Seems I did." Yang said, leaning against the wall next to them both. 

"Glad to hear it." Blake said, and Yang punched her in the shoulder .

"Can't let you have all the fun killing monsters." Yang said, and Blake grinned slightly. 

They all lapsed into silence, and Yang left Blake and Ryan to begin packing. It didn't take long, Yang only moved her limited potion and bomb supply into the saddlebags of the horse provided to her, camping supplies included. Her new armor, the full Kaer Morhen set, was on her apprentice dorm bed, its chain mail shiny and polished, the leather oiled. Yang donned the set with a small whistle. 

Neo had joined Blake and Ryan when Yang returned. Her hair had become a mix of pink and brown locks, her cat eyes had also become different colors. Yang nodded a greeting, and Neo nodded back. All 4 of them sat down to wait, meditating. It was another 8 hours before Kelly had officially died, the mutagens causing her bone marrow to turn acidic and thus dissolve her bones. There was no burial, however Blake, Yang, Neo, and Ryan all held a memorial together at the gates. 

Yang said goodbye to each, and mounted her saddle. The day was still an hour off, the forest around them covered in dew and a small fog, with few animals crying out just yet. The first town would be 4 hours away, and the road was muddy from the recent rains. Grimacing, Yang flicked her new horse's reins, and began her Path. The first she wanted to do was pick out a name for her horse. 

__________________  
(Road to Kaer Morhen, 7 years later...)

Yang's fire cackled quietly, its glow illuminating the small roadside clearing and just the edge of the tips of the surrounding trees. A potion pot boiled over the fire, with a werewolf decoction brewing, the crimson liquid turning darker as Yang stirred in the Beggartick. The head of the werewolf bled onto the grass next to the fire, its snout cut open for the saliva glands inside. 

A man laughed further up the road, and Yang turned her gaze to the smoke rising from their camp about 30 meters up ahead, supposedly the safe distance to be around a witcher. There were about 12 of them, ATLAS military deserters that would soon turn to banditry, if they hadn't already. Yang added another piece of deadwood to her fire, she would continue back to Kaer Morhen for the coming winter. Hopefully some of her friends would also decide to winter at the Wolf School this year, as last year only Neo had arrived, carrying a Alp's head in one hand and a very pleased swagger.

A shine rose from Celica, and Yang sheathed the blade before drawing Ember, cleaning its blade with a rag and solvent. A few birds chirped as she worked, the laughter of the other camp growing louder as the booze began to flow freely. A few wolves began to poke around at Yang's clearing, their grey hides fat and supple, reeking of human blood. 

"Guess the merry bandits have been busy." Yang said to the wolves, before using Axii to send their pack leader away, the rest following.

Yang grabbed Hanged Man's Venom from her bag, and as a precaution coated Ember lest she wake in the middle of the night with those men at her throat. The blade's edges turned slightly reddish in the fire's glow, and she sheathed the blade over her back. With no other preparations to mount, Yang closed her eyes and started to meditate. 

"Oi! Wench, the fuck you doin?" A shout sounded, and Yang's eyes flew open, her hand already at Ember's hilt. "You think this'ere fire for any doodle shite that walks by? Do ye?" The man sounded shitfaced, and he wasn't talking to Yang.

She let her grip on Ember go, and began to return to her meditation. 

"You deaf? He's talking to ye." Another said, hiccuping. Yang closed her eyes and sighed. 

"Look Val, two swords." One whispered to another, and a few murmured and spat in the dirt. 

"Just passing through." Yang's eyes opened again, she recognized Blake's voice. 

A bandit snorted, "The fuck you are, Witcher." He spat the word out with a ball of spit, and a few of his comrades chuckled. 

"You going to help yer friends up north?" One sneered, holding a bottle in his free hand. 

Another nodded, "Aye, have't be. Witchers be magic'uns. I bet she talks to birds." 

Boots hit the dirt, and a horse neighed. Yang stood, deciding it was time to introduce herself again to the vagrants. "Help my friends, what do you mean?" Blake said, her ears lowering slightly as Yang began to walk towards their camp. 

"You ain't heard?" One asked in disbelief, "They might go and do it then." 

Blake stepped forward, and grabbed one's shirt, dragging him to his feet. His beard was soaked with cheap booze, the metal armor dented and scratched. Yang smelt a faint trace of piss, and Blake's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Do what?" Her voice was low and dangerous. 

11 swords cleared their sheathes, the deserters standing or staggering to their feet, blades drawn and snarls on their faces. "Last mistake, mutant freak." One said, swinging an axe around experimentally. 

They were a motley crew, wearing a mix of whatever dented iron or leather they could muster. Their swords were scratched, rusted, yet sharp. Blake's eyes scanned side to side momentarily, before she dropped the man. "I just need an answer." Her voice was neutral, but Yang saw her sword arm tense, the other hand flexing in preparation to cast. 

"Got a right fucked way o asking." One snarled, and a few others nodded agreement. 

Yang was 10 meters away, Ember drawn and ready. Blake glanced over one bandit's shoulder and their eyes met. Blake blinked, and Yang nodded. "We can still talk this out..." Blake said quietly, and a few of them laughed at her. 

"This Witcher's afeared! A phony Witcher, just some ere faunus playin dressup. Sure, you can wag that tongue all ya want, right around me cock..." Yang's blade beheaded him in that second, the blood arching over the fire as Blake drew Gambol one handed, casting Igni with the other. Three bandit's clothes lit on fire as they leapt back, screaming. 

"Shite!" 

"Fucker be conjurin!" 

Yang spun and side-stepped a blade from one bandit, his face turning from anger to pain as Ember slid through the gap in his armor at the lower side, and he screamed as the Hanged Man's Venom seared his insides. Yang pivoted her foot and withdrew the blade in time to block a downward stroke from a sword. The bandit grunted as his blade met her's, and Yang kicked his knee with enough force to break it, turning to slice open the belly of the bandit that came at her back with a mace. He fell as Yang cast Igni, sending another 3 crashing to the floor screaming in pain. Blake blocked two quick thrusts from another bandit, before driving him to the floor with a shoulder, and he collapsed with a grunt. Blake ducked under another bandit's strike, and cut off his leg before finishing her downed opponent. 

Only two of the 6 set on fired were still alive, desperately patting out the small fires that still singed their arms. Yang could smell their burned flesh from a few feet away, the scent of blood mixed in to create an unpleasant aroma. Blake cut the last bandit's arm off, and he fell to his knees in time to meet Blake's follow-up decapitation. The stragglers were crawling away in terror, climbing over the dead bodies of their comrades to do so. Blake kicked one of the burned bandit's over, and he moaned in pain. 

"Dumb move, attacking two witchers." Blake said dryly, and the bandit grimaced in pain.

"Fuck off..." He spat. Blake sighed and cast Axii as Yang kicked her bandit over. 

"No, No please...witchers don't kill humans." He begged, throwing his arms up over his face.

Yang pushed an arm aside with the flat of her blade, "True, humans generally do something stupid and kill themselves."She thrust Ember down into his neck, and he died with a whimper. Yang wiped the blood off her blade on his dirty tunic, sheathing Ember as she walked over to where Blake was interrogating the final bandit. 

"What did your friend mean by needing to help my friends?" Blake asked, sheathing Gambol as she knelt next to the hypnotized man. 

His head lolled to the side slightly, before twisting back to face her with hollow eyes. "Vale, Mistral, Atlas, and Vacuo all met up at Bisbee. Word t'was they all marching up to Keer Marhon, gonna burn t'all down. We ere gonna loot the remains, get bloody rich from you freaks." Blake frowned slightly, and Yang raised an eyebrow at Blake.

"How many?" Yang asked, and the man didn't even face her. 

"Rumor haddit that dozens, nay hundreds of them hunters n atlas rock people marched on up. " The bandit insisted, gaining some vigor through his daze. 

Blake grabbed him by the shirt, and lifted him up to within an inch of her face, "How long ago?" The man pawed lightly at her collar, trying to free himself. 

"I don't know! Tis not my job to know all about them armies. I know fore sure that all them up in ure palace are downright fucked though." He laughed a little, before turning a little serious. "Will ye let me go now?" 

Blake didn't say a word as she drew her trophy knife, the blade glinting slightly in the bandit's campfire. He struggled underneath her for a moment, but she simply pressed her knee harder into his chest, and brought the knife down. Yang quickly helped Blake rummage through their camp, splitting the meager food and money they found. 

"Its good to see you." Yang said as she slung her bedroll over Bumblebee's rump, and Blake turned away from Adam, her horse, to look at her.

"Yeah, if only it were less worrying circumstances." Blake mounted up, and Yang walked over to her own campfire.

Aard put out the fire, and Yang quickly collected her decoction, sliding it into her belt before mounting Bumblebee. She whinied softly as Yang drove her boots into her side, sending her off into a trot after Blake. 

"Got at least 3 days hard riding to Kaer Morhen, think the horses will keep?" Yang asked as the road steadily raced past them. Blake's ears twitched in annoyance, and she sighed. 

"Probably not, should need a rest about a day and a half from now." Blake admitted.

"Look on the brightside," Yang offered, "We've got alot of catching up to do." Blake's piercing yellow eyes stared into Yang, who eventually looked away.

"I wouldn't be too worried Blake, it's Kaer Morhen. There should be at least a few dozen highly trained witchers there, probably closer to 100 or 150 since it's near winter. I doubt any army would even try to deal with that" Yang said, scanning the trees as Bumblebee settled into a steady canter.

Blake was quiet for a moment. "You've been up north in Temeria, where witchers are still respected. Down south in the 4 kingdoms witchers aren't." 

"Witchers aren't respected anymore," Yang argued, "Even right next to Kaer Morhen. We still have a job to do, and people still pay well enough for contracts."

"But in the North they aren't hunting Witchers." Blake said in growing frustration, "In Vale they've started organizing lynch mobs in some towns. Witcher medallions get you free drinks in any inn south of Clearwater, people have started to wander the roads looking for any wandering Cat school witchers. The White Fang have started attacking any wandering Griffen School witchers in Mistral." 

Yang was silent for a moment, and Bumblebee leapt over an upheaved wagon. "Witchers have always been distrusted, and every now and then a village decides instead of coughing over some coin they should try and kill the witcher. Its just a little dark spell, nothing more." 

"Dammit Yang, its not!" Blake hissed in frustration, "They're organized now. Vale, Mistral, and ATLAS have all opened up academies designed to replace Witcher Schools, the first batch of students emerged 4 years ago. The Path isn't safe anymore, these replacements are starting to hunt down and kill any witcher they see. Most villages are safe, but its spreading fast." 

"That is troubling, but The Path was never safe." Yang tried to ease Blake's mind, "Besides, Nilfgaard and Korvir to the south are still friendly towards witchers, according to Lambert." 

"For how long? If that bandit was right then they've decided to attack a Witcher School, a northern one at that." Blake said, pushing Adam to a gallop as the sun began to set. 

They stopped 4 hours later, Bumblebee and Adam's sides heaving as they drank from the local creek. Yang and Blake knelt underneath a tree, watching as the moon rose. The clearing was littered with ribleaf, with a raised view of the treetops. Yang ran a finger over Ember's hilt as it lay on her lap, while Blake polished a chain-mail shoulderplate. 

"So, how was your Path this last year?" Yang asked, looking over at Blake. She stretched and kept polishing.

"Lonely. Dangerous. I was attacked twice by those upstart "huntsman". Other than that, monsters have started growing bolder. Drowners, ghouls, nekkers, and other filth have started to drive even Grimm out of most forests and wilds." Blake said, before looking at Yang herself. Yang tried to memorize her face, time had the cruel habit of snatching certain details away the longer she walked The Path alone.

"Least you didn't run out of work." Yang said

"No, that I didn't. How about you, any interesting events up here in the untamed wilds?" Blake asked, and Yang set Ember down for a moment.

"Not as chaotic as down south. I mainly took on contracts village to village, basic beasts. Fought a few leshens and griffins though." Yang said, and Blake smiled a bit.

"Only you could make fighting a leshen sound boring and trivial." Yang smiled back, 

"It is, compared to some of the trouble we got up to in Novigrad." Yang smiled, and Blake gave her shoulder a small shove, "Hunting Endrega in the sewers for days, or when we met up outside that cemetery to hunt that grave hag." 

Blake shook her head, "They were fun in that we always came within an inch of dying." Yang shook her head.

"No, the fun part was when we'd both pass out half dead, only for me to wake up to a 3 page speech about what I did wrong." Blake put her shoulder-plate on as Yang continued.

"Someone had to watch your back." Blake said

Yang leaned up against the tree, and stared at the rustling leaves, "Well I wouldn't have anyone else watch it, and I wouldn't trust anyone else to watch yours." 

"Yeah," Blake looked down and picked at a twig, "guess we'll just have to watch each other's tomorrow."

Yang closed her eyes and began to doze, "Like we always have, like we always have." 

_______________________  
(Road to Kaer Morhen, The next day...)

It was around noon when Yang and Blake came over the hill and Kaer Morhen came into view.

"That's...not a good sign." Yang said quietly as they both dismounted and drew their blades. Blake's ears went flat as they crept closer to the castle. Yang couldn't hear anything, but she wasn't in the mood to trust her senses that much right now.

The walls of Kaer Morhen were beaten pretty badly, massive shards of stone sticking out in some spots from ATLAS golems, the ramparts stonework falling apart or draped with corpses in some areas. The gate wasn't in any better condition, with the metal cast around in pieces. Many corpses littered the front of the gates, most wore various clothing outfits, and looked to be around 17 through 28 years old. Two witcher corpses also lay out front, their Kaer Morhen armor scratched, torn, and dented. 

"Damn." Yang whispered, kneeling close to one of the bodies. 

Blake returned the witcher's steel swords to their sheaths, "Find peace at the end of your path." she said quietly, grabbing their medallions.

The attackers were mangled badly, the kids obviously expecting easy kills had rushed in too eagerly, and were quickly executed with slashes to the neck or legs. Their armor was leather, if they wore any. Yang rolled over a rock formerly belonging to an ATLAS golem. Its mossy surface was covered in runes, etched into the stone.

"Advanced Golems, hand crafted. Runes of speed, strength, magic resistance. ATLAS brought mages, and they brought siege golems." Yang said, looking at the few massive gaps in the ramparts from where golem boulders had struck. 

Blake began rolling the witcher's bodies into the shade. "Magic like that would have torn right through the gate, rune defenses or no." 

Yang stood, and walked over to the gate remains, and Blake walked to her. Yang stopped for a second, hesitating. Blake's shoulder brushed hers, and she met Blake's eyes. They were somber, but resolved. "We have to see what happened." 

Yang swallowed. "Yeah." She began to realize it wasn't the trials that stripped Witcher's of emotion, it was The Path. How many times had Vesemir seen a village sacked, a child torn apart by necrophages? It was a small wonder that any of them remained sane at all. 

Yang had seen 12 years of corpses, most monsters, but some were other apprentices. It didn't prepare her for this, and she tightened her fist slightly. Her stomach might be iron, but it didn't stop the revulsion from building, the sorrow at seeing so many dead witchers. Blake walked in behind Yang, and breathed in sharply upon seeing the carnage. 

There were bodies everywhere, most were ATLAS soldiers or huntsman, with limbs severed, cuts severing bodies in half, and bones broken at un-natural angles. Yang smelled a whiff of burning flesh, which wasn't surprising, there were Igni burned corpses sprawled everywhere, some hanging off ramparts, others curled up in the grass, charred and unrecognizable. broken swords, dented armor pieces, and blood stains covered the grass and stone throughout the keep, with piles of broken stone and rubble strewn along the bases of the walls from where the Golem's rock had struck. 

The iconic twin blades of the witchers were visible among the bodies, their owners armor heavily damaged and their swords filled with nicks and scratches from hours of combat. Yang knelt in the grass, and fished a piece of casing out of the grass, rubbing a finger over it. 

"Bomb casing, grapeshot." Yang set it back down, and looked around where the casing had struck. 3 ATLAS soldiers lay dead, shards of metal buried in armor and exposed skin alike. 

"Dimeritum bomb casing over here, too." Blake called, examining another casing near a pile of inert rocks, "Likely for the golems." 

A few golems still knelt in defeat, not having completely collapsed yet. Yang walked over to one near the stairs to the upper courtyard, and looked at its back. A dead witcher hung from it, his silver sword still buried in a gap in the rock pieces, his yellow cat eyes hung lifelessly, and rigor mortis had set in already. 

"Some of these golems have gaps in the rock." Yang brushed a hand over the silver blade, the faint trace of oil still visible. "Rush work. The mage, or mages, summoned more from the rubble of Kaer Morhen's walls."

Blake returned another witcher's blade to its sheath, before walking over to the stairs. Yang looked at her eyes, burning with cold fury. As she surveyed the carnage, Yang was certain her eyes took a similar look. 

"Around 70-80 bodies, plus a dozen or two golems." Yang said, her eyes memorizing the desecration of her home. 

"A dozen witchers too." Blake began trying to pry the dead witcher off the golem, and Yang walked over to help. "Mikal, Erika, and Paarth included." Yang heaved one last time, and the body came loose, sword still firmly gripped in hand. She didn't know Mikal or Erika, but Paarth had wintered a few years here with her. He could control a card deck with more finesse than his blade, no small feat. 

Yang closed the witcher's eyes, and scaled the stairs into the upper courtyard behind Blake. She had to push 6 or so charred corpses down the stairs, Igni had been used to try and hold the choke-point. The upper courtyard wasn't much better, with another littering of corpses. The gaps in the tiles ran thick with blood, it pooled near the front of the courtyard at the drains, which were blocked by bodies. 

"Found our first mage." Blake said, prodding a body with her boot. "Young, far as mages go." 

Yang knelt down and looked over the body. A steel sword was buried in her chest, runed and coated with Hanged Man's Venom. The mage herself was an elf, black hair cut short for battle, long ears and a relatively fair face before the battle. Several small cuts had marred the visage, and one eye was missing. She wore a Vale robe, green with a gear symbol on it, covered in foreign script. 

"Vale supplied some mages, along with ATLAS's mages meant that there was probably alot of magic being slung around." Yang said, looking for the witcher who owned the steel blade. 

Blake stood and walked over to a fallen huntsman, "Kaer Morhen had mages too, probably enough to cancel out the storm enough to give the witchers time to work." Yang didn't reply.

She spied the witcher, collapsed in a kneeling position 5 meters away. He was young for a witcher, probably close to 120 years. His hair was brown, his yellow cat eyes were widened in pain. Yang noticed his neck and face were still yellowish with black veins, something had triggered a toxicity overdose.

"Hmmm." Yang felt his skin, it was warm to the touch, and there were no cuts on his body. Realization dawned and Yang grimaced slightly. "Burned his blood, cooked his insides first, then his skin. Threw the sword as he died." Yang retrieved the blade, elven in origin, and slid it into the partial sheath on his back. 

She rose and surveyed the scene from a broader view. 6 witchers had held the stairs and courtyard, with the entire invading force scaling the walls and stairs. Igni, Yrden, and Quen had to have been the prefered signs, given the faded glyphs, scorch marks, and the body count. A few archers had taken the ramparts, using them to fire down at the witchers. Yang saw a few shafts in two of the witcher's corpses, heavy crossbow bolts large enough to stagger a horse.

"Odd, no golem remains as far as I can tell." Yang said, kicking a huntsman idly.

"Couldn't scale the stairs. Mages like this one," Blake gestured to the dead elf, "moved up with huntsman to compensate." Blake looked at a cluster of huntsman bodies, their runic plate and varied weapon choices marking them out, with splinters and shrapnel lodged all over.

"Didn't go as well for them." Yang said, looking down at Ferial. "Though they had the numbers to spare." Her recruiter had been beheaded, a double-bladed staff lodged in his chest. The huntsman that killed him slumped against Kaer Morhen's outwall. 

"Aard slammed him into the wall, collapsed his skull, death followed soon after." Yang noted, pure habit at this point. 

Inside the keep was where fighting was at its worst. Bodies littered the hallways, almost all were invaders with burned, broken, or pierced leather armor. The walls were slick with blood and burn marks, Igni having been applied liberally. Yang and Blake picked their way through hastily built barricades, tables, crates, and other random objects. 

"Looters must have already been through already." Blake said, peering into an empty armory, racks tipped over and only a few rusty witcher training outfits lay on the floor.

"Necrophages will follow them soon if we don't bury the bodies." Yang said, sheathing another dead Witcher's blade into its sheath. "So many dead."

The carnage continued room to room as whatever witchers hadn't been cornered or dug in elsewhere in the castle made a fighting retreat towards the heart of Kaer Morhen. The bodies were so deep in some junctions Yang had to step on them vs the floor. Blake silently knelt and collected another medallion as Yang looked at Ryan's. He must have arrived early, and had died in the forge, face pressed into the hot coals. 

Yang stopped at the doors to The Monument. Its metal studded doors blazed with a thousand tiny runes, each shifting and moving in an angry defensive swirl of ancient magic. Blake whistled softly,

"Top tier magic." She said, "Couldn't even scratch that damn door."

Yang walked up to the door, "Good. This held the medallions." Her finger brushed the door cautiously.

Yang was thrown back, skidding on the stone floor and rolling over several corpses before slamming into a side wall and coming to a halt. Her back ached, and her vision swam with runes for a few minutes. Blake ran over, setting a hand on Yang's shoulder, before jumping back in pain. Her eyes dilated and she fell to her knees in pain as Yang thrashed on the floor. Her insides burned, and her thoughts each split her head like a hammer. 

"Argh..." Yang groaned.

The pain subsided a few minutes of agony later, and she staggered to her feet as Blake likewise moved to a kneeling position. Yang's vision swam slightly, and her entire body felt like it was just thrown off a cliff, but she couldn't feel anything permenant. 

"Really strong magic." Blake gasped, standing at last. Yang nodded in agreement. 

"Still, we need to open it." Yang said, and began staggering towards the door.

"You sure that didn't muddle with your mind." Blake said as she staggered after Yang.

Yang stood in front of the door, and considered. "Screw it." She said, and held up her medallion, "I'm Yang Xiao Long, witcher. Let me in door." 

Blake and Yang both waited for a moment, and the door didn't respond at first. The runes glowed yellow, and began arranging themselves in their original rows, before slowing fading as the door opened. Yang grabbed Ember's hilt as the door swung open, and a witcher emerged. His grey hair, leather shoulder pads, and studded gauntlets made him instantly recognizable. 

Vesemir stood before them, his armor covered in scratches, most of the metal studs were cut off, his leather shoulder pads were in shreds, and the chain mail on his armor hung loose and in pieces. One sword was in his hand, covered in blood and nicks, the other in its sheath as he looked them both over. His stance relaxed and he sheathed his sword with visible effort. 

"Blake, Yang. Good to see some friendly faces that aren't covered in blood." Vesemir gave a hollow laugh.

"Master Vesemir! Good to see you survived, is there anyone else in there with you?" Yang said, clasping his forearm as Blake and Vesemir exchanged nods. 

He gestured with an arm, and walked into the room, "Come in, we have alot to discuss before we see to our dead. Kaer Morhen has runes in its walls that help repel monsters. Should keep the necrophages away long enough for us to talk and see to the dead. Hopefully by then a few more of the witchers till on the path will have arrived."

Yang and Blake gave each other a look of relief. It was something to know that so far a witcher had survived, which means there could be others inside other strongrooms in the castle. Yang was just happy that a senior witcher was alive, Vesemir would know what to do more than she would.

"Come, lets sit and talk while I finish cleaning my wounds. Right now I'm not sure what else to do." He said, sitting against a wall in the room while Blake shut the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For me it made sense a higher vampire would lead a Witcher school, someone had to compile all the knowledge and keep everything running basically the same for hundreds of years, if crossbows are some controversial addition to the Wolf School in W3, then they must have been hardcore traditionalists. 
> 
> All comments and critiques are welcome, thanks for reading!


	3. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang, Blake, and Geralt finish investigating the aftermath of the siege at Kaer Morhen. While tracking down some surviving witchers, things go horribly wrong as the past emerges in the worst way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a bit delayed with alot of tests going on, also wanted to try and edit some more, polish it up a bit. I'm sure I missed some things, but hopefully the final draft is smoother than the before.

Yang woke to the door opening at the end of the hall. Blake rose slowly as Yang did, both drew their swords and crept towards the door. Vesemir was already at the door, his steel sword raised and ready. Yang held her breath as the door opened far enough to reveal Geralt, The White Wolf.

Vesemir sighed in relief and lowered his sword, "Geralt, good to see you alive." Geralt stepped into the room, and sheathed his sword. 

He looked at all three of them as he sheathed his blade. "You too. Good to see a few of us made it." Yang sheathed Ember as he looked both her and Blake over, before frowning slightly and raising an eyebrow.

"Your armor is in pretty good condition for a siege." He commented dryly, crossing his arms. 

Yang met his gaze, "We weren't here, arrived yesterday night. Vesemir was the first person we found in the carnage." 

Blake leaned out into the hallway and looked around, "Did you find anyone else, or have anyone else with you?" She asked, and Yang looked at Geralt hopefully.

"Lambert and Eskel came with me, don't know if they found anyone yet though." He turned to Vesemir, "Did you see anyone else make it to safety before you entered?" Vesemir frowned and shook his head.

"No, it was too chaotic. We all knew the battle was over when they breached the gates, and some of us old witchers, with a healthy mix of the young and stupid Wolves among us volunteered to make a fighting retreat. The others were supposed to take the old catacombs down to the lakeside and meet back here after the fighting stopped." Vesemir looked around at the empty room, "nobody from Kaer Morhen arrived, only these two, who were returning to winter." 

Geralt thought for a moment, before turning towards Blake and Yang. "Alright, some of us need to find out what happened in those catacombs, while the rest start dealing with the dead. Any preferences?" Blake opened her mouth to speak, but Vesemir stepped forward and raised a hand to cut her off.

"We don't know what's down there, and given the recent decline in our numbers I'd say its best to go in force. I can tend to the bodies with Lambert and Eskel, you take Blake and Yang here down to investigate." Vesemir rubbed his shoulder, which had started to develop a faint scar beneath his shoulder pad. "I'm in no condition to go dancing around in some crypt right now anyway." 

Blake nodded, and Geralt turned to both of them, "Alright, you ready to go?" 

Yang smiled and stretched slightly, "Ready when you are." She really wished Vesemir had told them that earlier, it gave a much needed silver lining to the situation. 

"Mhm." Geralt turned and walked through the door, Blake and Yang followed behind him. 

The bodies grew less and less as they walked further into the lower levels of Kaer Morhen. Yang couldn't tell if it was because the invaders were running out of men or if they were chasing witchers too badly wounded to live, judging by the blood stains and severed limbs everywhere. The doors turned ancient, runed metal doors guarded untold secrets.

Blake looked at one as they walked past it, rubbing her medallion as Yang's started to shake. "What's behind these doors?" 

Geralt didn't stop walking, "Top level witcher gear, according to some. Objects with curses to strong to lift and too dangerous to leave unguarded to others. Nobody but The Grandmaster knows for sure." Yang glanced back one last time before they rounded a corner and the runed of Kaer Morhen's underbelly gave way to crumbling stonework and faded tombs.

"Who's even buried here?" Yang asked as she walked down the steps to the crypt. The walls were lined with tombs, and a few fresher corpses of huntsman littered the landing by the stairs. Yang could feel the eyes of the dead pressing in on her, displeased that such violence and distraction had breached their peaceful slumber. 

"Elves, from before this became a witcher school." Blake said, tipping a knocked over urn upright.

Geralt snorted, "You actually paid attention in Vesemir's lessons on Kaer Morhen? Everyone I knew used it to nap." 

The hallway was narrow, but thankfully devoid of too many corpses. A lone woman sat slumped over, a witcher's sword buried in her chest. Yang knelt down next to the body, and inspected the blade. 

"Hanged Man's Venom, steel blade. Extremely well crafted too." Yang withdrew the blade, and held it aloft. Geralt walked over and inspected it.

"Enhanced blade, not a bad find. Keep it if you want, or dump it, I don't really care as long we keep moving." He brushed past Yang, and Blake followed him. Yang smiled and walked after them.

Her smile faltered as she entered into the second and final room of the catacombs. The carnage in Kaer Morhen was bad, but this was otherworldly. Dozens of bodies were strewn throughout the stone room, witcher and huntsman alike. Blood coated the walls and floors, and several of the bodies were jammed into the wall, the stone broken with the force of the impacts. 

"Damnit. Better look around." Geralt said, before walking over to inspect a body near the exit to the escape tunnel. 

Yang turned and walked over to a dead witcher, and knelt. His hair was matted with blood, and a few rocks were embedded in his scalp, the skin having grown onto the shards. One hand was broken, its fingers mangled and half torn off. The blade the hand held was shattered, the silver laid in pieces next to the hand. Yang nudged a piece with a finger, before holding it aloft and inspecting the fracture.

"Huh, this was shattered by something smooth. The cut curves slightly, maybe a claw?" Yang muttered, before setting the piece down and returning to the actual body. 

This witcher wore wolf armor that was dyed black, though it had been heavily stained and torn open by various cuts, with blood all over the armor. The cuts on his body were deep, and spread out across his neck, face, and upper chest. 

Yang looked to his other hand, where a empty potion vial was resting, a small amount of orange liquid at the bottom. "Swallow, drank it right before being pinned. Couldn't heal these cuts fast enough, whoever did this must have been extremely strong or extremely fast." Yang said, rising to turn and inspect another body.

They all had similar wounds, with 6 witchers and slightly less than two dozen huntsman dead in this room alone. Severed limbs and broken pieces of weapons and armor were scattered everywhere, bloodstains dried on the walls and ceilings. Blake, Geralt, and Yang all convened at the escape passage entrance to compare notes. 

"Pretty tough fight happened here." Yang said, looking over the bodies once more. She felt a small pit of worry that whatever had caused that might still be in here with them. 

"Seen this types of wounds before." Geralt said, "When I was in Toussaint I ran into a few of these creatures, if you can call them that. Higher Vampire, or vampires."

Blake's ears twitched slightly and Yang sighed, inspecting their surroundings. Vesemir had been sure to drive home the threat of Higher Vampires, they could close 40 meters in less than a second while completely mist-like. "No wonder everyone here was slaughtered, no chance in hell they could dodge in this cramped space." Yang said quietly, and Blake nodded. 

"Especially when they were also fighting each other." Yang counted the bodies that had been felled by a blade rather than a vampire, she didn't reach three. She really hoped that none remained, she wasn't sure even the three of them would be a match for one. 

"We need to keep moving." Geralt said, before stepping into the escape passage. "I'd rather not be hanging around here in case he or she decides to check for survivors." 

The passage was mercifully short, and devoid of bodies. A blood trail did lead outside however, and claw marks riddled the walls. Yang ran her fingers over one or two before they reached the end of the passage, crudely cut stone giving way to a clearing on the far sides. The grass swayed in a small breeze, the blades of grass tipped red from blood. The field was littered with stone pieces, huntsman, and basic footmen. The bodies were spread out all over the clearing, blood and weapons everywhere.

"The invaders were waiting at the other end." Blake said, glancing around, "Cornered the survivors." Yang noticed the witcher bodies, alot more were present in the clearing. Their blades were crusted with blood, and potion vials and bomb casings littered the battlefield, with 6 corpses or more to every witcher body. 

Geralt moved closer to the newest pile of bodies, and knelt. Yang did the same, concentrating. There were 4 bodies, 3 huntsman wearing a mixture of dark iron plate with steel weapons. The other was instantly recognizable, The Grandmaster lay dead in front of them, at least he seemed so. 

"Three bodies, all shredded to pieces, gutted. Claw wounds, extremely lethal and extremely painful." Yang flipped a body over, the girl's face contorted in pain as her intestines spilled into the grass. "The Grandmaster must have lost his blades during the fight, or dropped them." 

Geralt was examining the body of The Grandmaster, his mouth tight as he inspected the wounds. "Lots of blade marks, scarred over at this point. His armor took quite the beating, dented from...golem rocks, a few blunt object strikes." Geralt wretched free a rock from one of the hanging chain armored pieces. 

"Look here," Yang turned her focus towards The Grandmaster's corpse, "Higher Vampire claw marks, upper shoulder and several on the torso and side." She rolled the corpse over to reveal more blade and claw marks.

"Yeah. Must have been one on their side, perhaps old rival?" Geralt considered for a moment, then shook his head, "Doesn't matter. He went down with a fight, judging by the almost solid black veins and sickly yellow skin he drank enough potions to push even a Higher Vampire's regeneration factor to the limit with the poison running through his system." 

Yang looked to where Geralt pointed, and saw he was right. The Grandmaster's eyes were so dilated that they seemed to have no iris at all. His skin was as pale as snow, the veins so black and pronounced it was like he had metal rods running through his body. She surveyed the ground next to his corpse and throughout the clearing and whistled softly.

"So many potion vials, at least 20 that I can see." Yang said, and Geralt opened The Grandmaster's potion pouches on his belt.

"Empty. Drank everything, every decotion and potion. Desperate, or vengeful." Geralt observed, before checking his bomb pouch. "Empty too. Used everything he had before he turned to claws."

Yang didn't even count the bodies around her, "Must have either been death incarnate or barely able to stand after such a heavy dosage." She didn't know how well Higher Vampire metabolisms withstood Witcher potions, let alone a Higher Vampire that went through the trials.

"Former, until one of his kin showed up and ended him." Geralt concluded, before rising. "Probably, hard to tell what caused his death with so many wounds. His opponent was heavily wounded though, judging from the bloodstained bat hairs on his claws. Yang confirmed it was true before scolding herself for missing such a detail. 

Blake waved them over to the far side of the clearing, if it could be called that anymore. Battlefield seemed more appropriate to Yang. "Found a few sets of tracks. Looks like three or four set off alone, probably fleeing witchers. More footprints later, search parties most likely." Blake said, pointing out the heavier and clustered indents in the dirt and grass. 

"4 trails, three witchers." Yang said "Not great numbers." Blake looked at her and shook her head.

"Two of the witcher trails vanish about 30 meters in, they started covering their tracks." Blake gestured to the two innermost sets of tracks.

"The other two were either to stupid or wounded to hide their tracks. Means they would be easy prey for those search parties." Geralt said, crossing his arms and staring into the woods. 

"Two sets to track then. Split up, Blake and I, you with the other?" Yang suggested

Geralt shook his head. "Someone has to deal with these bodies, and tell the others were the other two went. I can take one trail, one of you can take the other. Your call as to who takes what." 

Yang looked at Blake, who rose and stared back. They knew each other too well for this to be a question, "You always were the adventurer." Blake smiled slightly.

"Have fun pillaging Kaer Morhen's library after you deal with the bodies." Yang said, and a small part of her regretted it. So many of their brethren were dead, Kaer Morhen was sacked. Was it really time for jokes? She had to find the joy in something, otherwise Yang would find herself soulless and unable to feel anything. A fate far too common for those that walked The Path. 

"Great." Geralt said, before gesturing towards the rightmost tracks. "The majority of the searchers went down this way, so I'll follow it. You take the one on the left. Good luck and keep your eyes peeled." 

"Watch yourself out there Wolf." Yang clasped his arm, before starting down her set of tracks.

"Take care out there." Blake called to them both, and Yang gave her a thumbs up as she knelt to inspect a twig. 

The forest was silent, all the animals driven off by the fires and carnage from earlier yesterday. The tracks kept a steady course deeper into the forest, bloodstains dripping steadily as the witcher limped along. Yang found a body about 300 meters in, it was in bad shape with an arm and a leg sliced off. She knelt and examined an empty potion bottle next to the body.

"White Rafford potion." Yang dropped the potion to the grassy forest floor. "Must have streamed ahead of the rest of the search party, and got ambushed." She heard a very, very faint laugh up ahead.

Yang drew Ember and rose slowly, a hard resolve forming. The sound was likely several hundred meters off, to strain her hearing. They wouldn't hear her coming, of that she was sure. 

__________________________  
(Ruby Rose, Forest near Kaer Morhen, 5 minutes later...)

Ruby sat in the forest clearing, listening to the wind howl and their campfire cackle quietly. She leaned farther back against her tree, drawing the whetstone across Crescent Rose once more, admiring its sheen. She wondered when Juane and the others would return from patrol, it was getting dark. She didn't want them to run into any of the corpse eaters alone in the dark. A few of the ATLAS soldiers laughed as they passed around a bottle near the campfire.

"That lads was the right way to deal wif em." One said, to a round of nods. His armor was dented, scratched, and scorched. They were all lucky to be alive.

"Aye, them mage folk did somethin right fore once." Another said as he bit into an apple, chewing loudly. 

"Hit em hard, fast, and with enough men they shite themselves." Another agreed.

Ruby heard a punch, then a grunt as their captive fell to her knees. She looked over to where Weiss and a few other huntsman were still questioning the witcher they had tracked down earlier. The witcher was slightly short, with pink and brown hair, though it was her cat eyes that disturbed Ruby the most. The slitted eyes were unnerving, but the mis-matching colors of pink and brown added to the discomfort. The fact she didn't speak at all furthered Ruby's feelings of unease. 

Weiss crossed her arms and sighed, "Of course we track down the mute mutant." She looked down at the witcher, who stared back impassively, despite one eye blackened and swollen. "Where are the diagrams and recipes?" 

She didn't answer, and blew a kiss before one of the other huntsman, Neillen, drove a fist into her cheek. The witcher moved with the blow, toppling over. 

"Weiss, stop it. We aren't getting anything out of it." Ruby sighed, and one of the huntsman sniggered. The witcher was forcefully hauled to her knees again. She was calm and composed despite being helpless, the sheaths on her back were empty. 

"We're getting alot out it, always wanted to see how tough witchers were. They always acted so aloof and superior, until good old Ozpin took us to their gates." He spat on the witcher's face, who didn't even flinch. Ruby saw her test her dimeritium cuffs slightly.

Another huntsman shook his head, "Talk trash all you want Neillen, but it doesn't make it true. It took several hundred people, a dozen mages, and who knows how many golems to bring that keep down, and it cost us most of that number, plus Ozpin himself." A few of the others nodded, a few shook their heads and glared at the captive witcher. Ruby looked away, she hadn't been there to help Ozpin, perhaps if she had been he could have survived. 

"We took this one down easy enough." An ATLAS huntsman, O'Brian said.

Weiss facepalmed, "When she was half dead. Look, we all did good, yes. However we also should try and get something from that victory, like armor diagrams or potion recipes." Weiss pointedly looked to their captive. 

Ruby sighed and put Crescent Rose up against the tree, before closing her eyes to nap. The battle had been chaotic, and bloody. Her body needed time to recover, if she could forget the sights of her friends being dismembered or maimed long enough to fall asleep.

A flash and an explosion rocked Ruby to her feet as several of the soldiers near the campfire recoiled, shielding their eyes and screaming in surprise as they went for their weapons. Ruby grabbed Crescent Rose as her eyes adjusted to the fading brightness, and a blade cleaved through one soldier's arm as he raised his sword.

"What the...?" One said as he lunged. He staggered backwards as his head sailed clear, the attacker blocked from sight by a wall of metal and soldier as the rest of their camp charged in. 

"Get the bitch!" One called, and the soldiers all charged. Ruby braced Crescent Rose as Weiss slid up next to her, sword raised. 

"Guess we missed one." She said, voice cold. 

A blast of fire sent two more soldiers to the floor, their metal armor singed and cuts on their arms and legs. Two more soldiers went in, slicing high and low, and Ruby saw a flash of black armor move to one side, before one soldier's blade was thrown high as a steel sword emerged from his gut, straight through the leather armor he wore. 

Neillen put an arrow on his string as the rest of the huntsmen readied for when the soldiers grew few enough to let them engage. The witcher was making fairly quick work of them, as blades clashed in parries, or he moved deftly within their circle, lashing out at a foot or neck, sign or blade to send another one to the floor. Ruby frowned as the screams continued, and soldiers kept falling over, screams dying with their last breaths. The strikes shouldn't have been lethal, yet the soldiers were still dying all the same.

"Witcher's using oils!" Ruby cried to her comrades, who nodded grimly. Ruby had been sliced once with one of their specialized oils, and had nearly died in the middle of the courtyard. Weiss's quick thinking and quicker magic had saved her life. 

"Fucker be conjurin!" One cried as the rest were thrown backwards with an explosion of outwards blue light, several toppling over. 

Ruby gasped as the witcher rose, her yellow hair falling back to reveal a face Ruby would recognize anywhere. Her sister was standing in front of her covered in blood, with pale skin and purple cat-eyes instead of the slight tan and normal eyes Ruby remembered from her childhood. Yang moved fast, her sword piercing the gut of a soldier as Neillen fired, and she dodged away from his shot. Ruby stood their frozen for a second, her hands tight on Crescent Rose. Could she really attack her sister, freak or not?

"Yang?" She said in shock and surprise. Her sister turned and her eyes widened a fraction as she saw her standing there, scythe in hand. 

"Ruby?" Yang said, her voice was deeper, but largely as Ruby remembered it. It was the voice that always laughed as they would sled down the snow hills, or when they egged their neighbor. Yang stood and stared, as if memorizing Ruby's face. 

Neillen's second arrow slammed into Yang's gut in the momentary pause in combat, punching through the black armor Ruby's sister wore. Ruby gave a strangled cry of surprise as her sister staggered backwards and grunted. Several soldiers charged at the opening, swords raised. The blades of dark iron and steel gleamed in the dying ember of the camp's fires, a dozen or so flaming reflections.

Yang straightened, and broke the arrow off at the base of the wound with one hand, letting the shaft drop among the littered bodies. Her blade glowed blood red with runes, and Yang's eyes focused on Ruby, then nothing at all. Ruby couldn't bring herself to retreat or to attack her sister as she threw down a sign on the ground, with purple glyphs emerging in the grass and on the bodies. Three huntsman rushed in with the soldiers this time, slowing down to a crawl as they entered the circle. Yang moved like water through the slowed men, her blade easily cutting limbs, chests, and necks as Yang dodged the slowed blades with effortless contempt. 

"Quickly, break that circle!" Jaune cried as he entered the clearing, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren running in behind him. He had picked a perfect time to return from foraging duty. 

Weiss nodded, and started to focus on gathering her energy. Ruby turned to watch as Yang beheaded another ATLAS soldier, before ducking under a slowed down blade and blasting the man into a nearby tree with a sign. Ruby gripped Crescent Rose in frustration, torn on who to side with as she watched people die. As the glyphs of the circle began to fade, and the soldiers strikes moved at normal speed, Ruby charged at Yang, who looked up at the last second. 

Her hands moved in a quick pattern as Ruby swung, and she felt her arms turn to lead as her head filled with meaningless noise and pictures. She sagged for a moment as Yang threw a bomb into the group of soldiers that still charged at her. Ruby's vision went white and her ears rang as the bomb exploded, but her mind cleared enough for her to move again. Weiss ran over and set an arm on her shoulder as Jaune and the other huntsman ran forward. 

"You alright?" Weiss said, concerned and angry. Her eyes went from a deep blue to ice when she got this way, it sometimes even scared Ruby, who nodded. 

"Yeah, focus on that spell, we might need it." Ruby turned towards Yang again, who had managed to reach the far side of the clearing. A pile of dead soldiers surrounded her as the huntsman all struggled to sprint through a purple rune trap. 

Yang grinned at them as she unstopped a bottle and drank an unknown liquid. Ruby's eyes widened in surprise as Yang's skin went sickly, and her veins darkened by a large margin. How could anyone survive that? Ruby watched in morbid horror as Yang dropped the bottle, before grabbing another just like it as Nora and Jaune reached the end of the rune trap. Beside Ruby Neillen was trying to line up a shot through his comrades, cursing that he could not. 

"Come on, let's dance." Yang said as she drank the other potion, and her condition worsened to an extreme, with her eyes dilating as her skin went even paler. Blood trickled out of Yang's nose as she grunted and dropped the bottle.

Ruby ran forward to help her friends, a pit of revulsion forming in her stomach. This wasn't Yang, it couldn't be. Yang was a reckless sister that loved pulling pranks and making bad puns, she wasn't some half-human killing machine that couldn't feel emotion. Yet as Ruby looked into those eyes, devoid of any compassion and filled with only rage and focus, she knew that her sister was gone. Ruby was glad that Ozpin and Ironwood had decided to raze that school to the ground, for all the lives it had ruined, including her sister's. 

"Surround her and keep her off balance!" Jaune cried as he swung his sword at the witcher. 

Yang ducked under the blade and cut Jaune's leg deeply, her sword's edge piercing the armor plate on the outer leg. To her horror, Jaune ignited with the cut, flames starting to lick at his leg and body as Yang's sword burned a brighter red. He dropped and started rolling the flames out, screaming in pain from both the fire and the rapidly infecting cut. Cursing all witcher oils, Ruby swung Crescent Rose at Yang, who ducked to the side and cut downwards, her blade slicing the tip of Ruby's leather armor as she leapt backwards. Pyrrha and another huntsman charged at Yang from the sides, weapons raised. Pyrrha was knocked to the floor with a blast of blue force from one of Yang's signs, before she turned to the other huntsman. He swung his hammer downwards, creating a small dent in the grass as Yang swung at his mid-section. The huntsman leapt back, releasing the stuck hammer and drawing a short sword. Yang parried his strike and shoved her shoulder into his chest, knocking him off balance before slicing through him as if he didn't wear plate. 

Neillen fired another arrow, but Yang rolled underneath its flight, springing to her feet a foot away from the huntsman as he tried to draw his blade. Nora and Ren reached Neillen just as his chest was opened from chest to belt. 

"Neillen!" Ren called, grabbing one of his sword swords tighter and swinging downwards.

Yang blocked the blow, and Ren's other sword cut into her wrist with a quick jab, causing Yang to drop the sword. He cut downward again with the other sword, creating a gash on her left shoulder. Yang grunted and drove a fist into his stomach, and Ren staggered backwards with a gasp for air. She grabbed his head and drove her knee into it as Nora's warhammer slammed into Yang's back, sending her flying forward. Ren staggered backwards, his nose broken and bleeding. Nora put a hand on his shoulder before glaring at Yang.

"Get her before she gets up!" Pyrrha said, and Ruby rushed over with the rest of their party. 

Yang struggled to her feet, gasping for air. Her armor was covered in sword marks from the soldiers and various huntsman, and Ruby could see the pain Nora's blow had caused. Yang reached for another potion, but Pyrrha threw her buckler at Yang, the shield crashing into the witcher's arm and causing her to drop the bottle and roll away. Pyrrha and another huntsman, Cartman, rushed forward, sword and spear in hand. 

"Keep her busy just a little while longer!" Weiss whispered, and Ruby nodded. 

Yang drew a small knife, a trophy knife by the looks of it. Yang ducked under Cartman's spear thrust, grabbing the shaft and yanking forward. She drove her knife into his neck, and yanked the blade to the side, the huntsman falling to the side as blood sprayed from the wound. Yang's bleeding wrist suddenly stopped as the knife cleared. What was in those potions? Pyrrha thrust her longsword at Yang's side. She dodged a bit late, and it bit into her side, cutting through the chain armor. Pyrrha spun and slashed downward at Yang's shoulder, but was thrown backwards with a blast of force from Yang's sign. Ruby lunged, she wanted to end the fight now before any more of her friends died. Crescent Rose sliced downwards across Yang's back as she began to turn towards Ruby. Yang grunted with pain and rolled away, panting. 

"Surrender Witcher." Ruby commanded, spinning Crescent Rose in a small arc. Yang rolled again, and Ruby could've sworn she saw her wounds begin to heal as she rolled.

"Witcher?" Yang said in disbelief, "Can't even use your sister's name before you kill her?" Her eyes didn't react, and remained carefully blank as the witcher circled warily.

Ruby steeled herself before answering quietly, "You aren't my sister. Yang died years ago in Patch, killed by a witcher. You're just some mutant freak, not the sister I knew." A few tears streamed down Ruby's face as she remembered her sister, her real sister. Yang wouldn't be some cold hearted murderer, she couldn't be. The pain was still raw, looking at the witcher and remembering the small segment of her life that had Yang in it, it seared her chest like fire and left her struggling to breathe. 

Yang's eyes went hard, "I used to think the lies you tell yourself were out of ignorance, misunderstanding. I know now that its just a shield, a way to forget the fact that you created us to fight your battles and exterminate your pests. When something terrifying went bump in the night, you created something to bump back, but couldn't live with it when it stepped back into the light when the job was done. So you lied and now you murder for no other reason than you can't stand to look at your own demons." Yang spat some blood into the dirt.

Ruby blinked, and Yang lunged, throwing the knife in her hand. Ruby tried to dodge, but the blade bit deep into her shoulder, and Ruby gasped in pain. Pyrrha came at Yang from the side with Ren and Nora. Yang rolled backwards, before throwing a bomb at them, and Ren dropped as his clothes caught fire. Ruby gritted her teeth in anger as he dropped the ground to try and roll out the flames, grunting as his skin burned. 

Yang used the same mind trick on Nora as she drew closer, causing her to drop her warhammer and stay still. Yang kicked her chest, and Nora staggered backwards with the kick as Pyrrha swung her sword. Yang ducked under two strikes, before grabbing the sword arm with one hand, twisting the joint to an extreme angle and punching it with her other hand. Pyrrha cried out in pain as her arm broke, and Yang grabbed the sword from her grasp. 

"Pyrrha!" Ruby cried in horror as Yang tightened her grip on her sword. Fear and helplessness filled Ruby's chest, her friend was about to die because she couldn't find the strength to act.

Yang didn't finish Pyrrha, instead turning towards Ruby with the sword. Ruby swallowed in fear and relief, and raised Crescent Rose. She could do this, they died just like anyone else. Yang leapt towards Ruby, her sword coming down faster than Ruby thought it would. Ruby leapt to the side and swung Crescent Rose, only to have Yang dodge sideways and come in again. Ruby barely got her hilt up in time to block the strike, and the blade bit into the hilt. 

Ruby was thrown backwards as Yang used a sign, and a blast of fire crashed into Ruby. She gasped in surprise and pain as she caught fire, the flames lapping at her shoulders and legs. Ruby rolled away, hugged Crescent Rose to her chest as the flames slowly died. Yang followed her, and swung downwards. Ruby tried to block from the ground, but Crescent Rose's angle was off, and the blade sliced her from her right breast to her bellybutton, pain lancing through Ruby's chest. Yang kicked Crescent Rose away and raised her weapon. Ruby watched as she hesitated only a second, but it was all Weiss needed. 

"I've got it!" Weiss cried, and Ruby sighed in relief.

"Do it!" Weiss threw the ball of ice she had been forming for the past few minutes, and Yang tried to dodge, but failed. 

It struck the ground next to Yang, and the witcher found herself frozen in place, unable to move or speak. Ruby sighed in relief and exhaustion. Pyrrha, Nora, Ren, Juane, and two other huntsman were getting to their feet. Everyone had wounds, from scorch marks to knife cuts, Yang had left something on all of them.

"That went well." Weiss said, kneeling to pick up Yang's dropped blade. Ruby looked at the bodies all around the campfire, around a dozen and a half soldiers, and at least 5 huntsman lay dead.

"Yeah, well." Ruby repeated, "that's one way of phrasing it." Weiss put her hand on Ruby's shoulder, who turned and smiled. Weiss always made her feel better, regardless of the situation. Weiss had been there when Ruby's mom died, and when her time with Yegrin didn't end well. She winced and clutched her side. 

"You weren't at the exit to the catacombs like I was." Weiss said, her eyes going someplace far away and dark. "Their leader alone killed at least a hundred or more, and it took Ozpin to kill him. It killed him in the process." Ruby tried to imagine something that could kill Ozpin, and failed. 

Ruby nudged one of Yang's frozen boots, "What should we do with her?" Nora crossed her arms and spat into the dirt while Jaune considered.

"Take her with us to Beacon, see if we can make her talk." He suggested as he started to sheath his blade, with Pyrrha helping him bandage his leg. 

"Yeah, and we can use the the mute one to..." Nora turned and gestured to the spot near the tree where the other witcher had knelt. Her swords were gone, as was the witcher. "Damnit, that's not fair." Nora swore, before launching into a graphic rant on what she would do to that witcher if she saw them again. 

"We should start moving, the rest are going to move out soon." Ren said, and a few others nodded in agreement. 

"What about the bodies?" Ruby asked, fighting down the urge to retch when she saw them.

"I don't think we have the time..." Weiss said gently, drawing Ruby closer. Ruby sighed and nodded her head, it just felt wrong to leave them. 

"Yeah, you're right." Ruby looked skyward, "Well, at least it shouldn't rain anytime soon." Pyrrha looked up and nodded, rubbing her broken arm and wincing. Ruby had a flash of guilt at coming away with only one cut, especially with so many dead. 

Ruby helped Ren and Nora load Yang onto their wagon, before climbing in and sitting down next to the witcher, who was wedged between a few barrels of food and supplies. Ruby sat for a while, trying to muster the courage to look her sister in the eye, or at least the thing that used to be her sister. She still remembered the day Yang left, so eager to go on an adventure, she had kissed Ruby on the forehead and hugged her before she left. 

"I'll come back and see you, I promise." Those had been her final words to Ruby. Fate, fickle bitch it is, decided to twist them into a fight to the death.

Ruby finally swallowed and looked over. Yang's black chain and leather armor had a small layer of ice on it, and her head was covered in the same sheet. As Ruby looked, Yang's eyes flicked to her, and stared impassively at Ruby. It was uncomfortable, the eyes felt like they were looking into her soul. Ruby wished they showed some emotion, hate would even be better than the lack, the emptiness. It pierced her soul and left Ruby feeling cold, traitorous.

Weiss sat down next to her, and Ruby looked over gratefully. Weiss nudged her shoulder as the others started climbing into the wagon, there was plenty of space with the dead not being afforded a ride. They all held haggard looks, nursing wounds with the limited supply of healing salves that they brought. 

"You gonna be okay?" Weiss asked, "That had to have been tough." 

Ruby couldn't help it, she turned and hugged Weiss, burying her head in Weiss's collar. The others in the wagon started to occupy themselves with each other's wounds, thankfully. Weiss drew Ruby in close, her warmth a welcome and old comfort. Weiss was always there for her, it had just taken Ruby a while to notice. 

"Did I just attack, alienate, and try to kill my sister?" Ruby asked into Weiss collar. Weiss rubbed the back of her head and cooed assurances.

"Of course not Ruby. That wasn't your sister anymore, it was a witcher. Their trials strip them of emotion, empathy, and humanity. They only care about their path, and slaying monsters." Weiss said, nuzzling her hair a little. 

Ruby tightened her grip, and pretended to not feel Yang's eyes on the back of her skull. 

______________  
(Geralt, Kaer Morhen, 2 hours later....)

Vesemir threw another body into the pile while Lambert and Blake dropped another set of swords and armor into the armory cart. Most would be sold or melted down for parts later, but it would certainly help with repair costs. Eskel was gathering stone into piles in the upper courtyard. Geralt kept brushing Roach, the horse was happy to be rid of the dirt and grime gained through a month of hard riding. Vesemir set the last mass grave alit with Igni, before standing and watching as the flames grew higher. 

"Well that's done." Lambert said, "Guess it took an invasion for us to finally do some housecleaning." He brushed some dirt off of his black armor, he was borderline obsessive with maintaining his kit.

Blake scowled at him and crossed her arms. Eskel shook his head and cut her off, "It's his way of grieving." Blake uncrossed her arms. Geralt understood where she was coming from, Lambert loved being an ass, it was his charm. 

Geralt finished brushing, and let the brush fall into the cleaning bucket. He turned and looked over the courtyard. With a few hours of cleaning and gathering, the place was starting to look a little like the home he remembered. The bodies were gone, the witchers cremated and given traditional witcher burials, which was ashes scattered at place of death, cremated with their gear on their backs. The stones were still everywhere, with Kaer Morhen's walls missing large chunks. The training dummys and other various items were still present, he could still see the training dummy Ciri had used when she had stayed at Kaer Morhen. Geralt smiled, it had been one rather loud argument with The Grandmaster, trying to convince him to train a child with no intention of giving her the mutations was a very touchy subject. Vesemir later claimed their voices grew so loud he couldn't hold his sparring lesson because the apprentices were too distracted by the yelling. His thoughts ventured to Ciri, towards Nilfgaard. Something interrupted him before he could slip back into that rut again. 

"Neo?!" Blake said, running past Geralt towards Kaer Morhen's gate, with Lambert and Eskel following at a jog. 

Geralt turned to see another younger witcher staggering into the gates, her face bruised, armor cut up and hands bound with dimeritium cuffs. She clutched her swords in her hands, awkwardly nudging them into the crooks of her arms. She looked at them all and smiled weakly before dropping her swords and leaning against the stone wall of Kaer Morhen's gate. Geralt felt his chest lighten slightly, another Wolf had survived. 

"Neo, are you alright? Where were you?" Blake asked, reaching down and helping Neo slide her blades into the dual sheaths still on her back. 

Geralt walked over with Vesemir, and gave Neo a once over. Geralt remembered taking her with him to hunt a local griffin 5 years back when they both ran into each other in Skellige. Neo had even helped him with tracking Ciri for a while. Geralt frowned slightly, seeing the many small wounds and bruises that had likely been inflicted post capture. The wounds bothered him, the thought of a fellow Wolf being tortured wasn't a pleasant one. 

"Good to see you escaped." Geralt said, using his steel blade to shatter the weakened cuffs. Neo had probably tried bashing them against a rock on her way here. She rubbed her wrists and gave him a grateful look. Geralt noticed the welts on the wrists, they would need a day or so to get to the condition witcher's preferred for fighting. 

"Indeed, I was afraid you died in the catacombs." Vesemir said, "Did anyone else make it out?"

Neo looked down and away, before nodding, then shaking her head. Geralt raised an eyebrow, it was always refreshing to have to rely on a mute to convey a complicated matter. Neo looked understandably frustrated, and Geralt sighed. It wasn't her fault that she bit her tongue off in the trials, he reminded himself. 

"Alright, we've done this before. How many witchers escaped with you?" Geralt asked.

10 fingers, a very long pause, then another finger. Blake shot Geralt a look, they had only found 4 witcher's tracks at Kaer Morhen. 

"We only found 4 sets of tracks at the battle. Did you see where the others went?" Neo nodded, before pointing towards Roach. 

Geralt sighed and shook his head, how could he have missed it? "Right. They stole the attacker's horses and left." 

Vesemir rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Then why didn't they return?" Neo shrugged. 

"Doesn't matter. You were hunted down and captured?" Neo kicked a piece of her cuffs and gave him an Are you really asking that? look. 

"Really good question Geralt, maybe next time ask if she has cat eyes?" Lambert said, and Eskel nudged him to shut it. 

Geralt gave Lambert a glare, "Point taken. How did you escape? Horse? Sleeping Guard? Running?" Neo shook her head to all of them, before giving Blake a pointed look. 

Blake's eyes widened, "Yang."

Neo nodded, and Geralt understood what happened. "Yang tracked you to their camp, intervened, and you escaped." Neo nodded, "Did Yang follow you back?" 

Geralt's stomach sank as she shook her head. Another witcher, friendly enough to him, was now in trouble, "Damnit. Captured or killed?" Neo shrugged and looked down in shame. Eskel steered her towards the courtyard.

"You couldn't have done much in your state." Eskel said, "Focus on recovery." His words weren't minced, but they were true, as usual. 

Geralt looked over at Blake, who was already saddling her horse. Her face was pale, yet determined. Vesemir pressed something into Geralt's palm.

"Go with her, bring them both back." He said, and Geralt looked back. Vesemir's eyes were worried, however much he tried to hide it. He always had cared about every witcher he trained, though for some reason he kept trying to hide what was plain to everyone but himself. Geralt decided he needed something to lift his spirits before they left. 

"Why is it that I'm always sent to hunt down people in danger?" He smiled at Vesemir, who gave a wolf's grin at the joke. 

"Because you're so damn good at it. Besides, if we don't look out for each other on The Path, who will?" Vesemir asked, and Geralt nodded agreement. He opened his hand and looked down, The Grandmaster's medallion stared back at him, humming gently as it attuned itself to Geralt's body. 

"Why...?" Geralt began, but Vesemir held up a hand to stop him.

"You know why. There is a reason The White Wolf is a legendary figure from Temeria all the way down south to Nilfgaard and Korvir. The School of the Wolf isn't dead, not yet, and someone has to lead the remnants." Vesemir gestured to the main keep, which was largely intact. Geralt sighed in resignation, he wasn't sure he was ready to lead a Witcher school, or that he wanted to. Triss had nearly sold him on that quiet forest house, he could use a rest. 

"The Grandmaster doesn't walk The Path..." Geralt tried again, but Vesemir cut him off again. 

"Then change that, but I'm not the one who was always bitching about settling down. Who knows what will happen? Focus on tracking Yang down, then decide what you want to do." Vesemir said, crossing his arms, "Besides, I looked around in The Grandmaster's quarters, I found something interesting you might want to consider."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, and Vesemir continued, "A letter from Nilfgaard, from Ciri." 

Now Geralt was interested, he didn't visit Ciri as much as he wanted to. He had been busy walking The Path while Triss was househunting and lobbying her way into Temeria's fledging court, where everything from cleaning maids to battle mages were needed. "Well, what did it say?" 

Vesemir chuckled slightly, "She-devil is getting into all sorts of trouble, turning the traditional Nilfgaardian military on its head. Started having the schools over there train commandos as a side job."

Geralt couldn't help but smile, leave it to Ciri to start using her upbringing as a military template. "Let me guess, Temeria is a vassal state, Kaer Morhen is in an allied state, they want witcher trained commandos here too. I'm surprised the other schools went for it." Geralt said, before looking at Blake, who had Roach saddled next to her horse at the gate, and was looking back at him expectantly. 

Vesemir rubbed his stubble thoughtfully, "It gets them more recruits, supplies, and coin. A friend from The School of The Drake said that witchers down in Nilfgaard are starting to integrate more, taking contracts on Grimm and other lesser contracts now."

Geralt wasn't sure he was fond of that idea, pragmatic or not. The School of The Cat was a cautionary tale to every witcher, as even now its keep was being sought by armies from ATLAS to Zerrikania for the killings its witchers committed. "Hmm..."

Vesemir clasped him on the shoulder, "I shouldn't be bothering you with such things for now, track down our lone wolf, we can discuss this all later." He chuckled, "preferably over a strong spirit or two." 

Geralt agreed with the logic, Yang's captors or killers were gaining ground with every minute. He mounted Roach, and pressed his boots into the horse's side as Blake did so with her's. The road was still littered with rocks and debris from the siege, and Geralt navigated Roach around the obstacles with Blake following behind him. 

"So," Blake began warily, Geralt already knew it was going to be an awkward conversation. "You're the grandmaster now." 

Geralt snorted, he certainly didn't feel like a grandmaster of anything. "Guess so. Doesn't feel right, The Grandmaster was as old as The School of The Wolf itself." Blake flicked her horse's reigns gently as they moved into the forest. Geralt noted how the birds and other wildlife hadn't returned yet, the smoke and carnage a strong deterrent. 

Blake didn't have much to say to that, so she switched tactics. Geralt was eager to get off the subject anyway, he wasn't pleased with Vesemir trying to foist this on him. "Did you know Yang well?" She asked, and he smiled at the thought.

"A little. She was hunting a succubus in Novigrad when I was there for Dandelion. She helped me take Cleaver down a peg along the way." He said.

"Let me guess, she wanted a good fight after a month in the saddle." Blake said, and Geralt shook his head.

"Decent guess, but no. Succubus broke her silver blade with a spell, and I happened to have two very important things: A diagram for a very effective Cat School silver blade, and a very good swordsmith in Novigrad who owed me a favor. We worked something out." He said, before pointing to the blades on his back, "Before I found the best witcher smith, I always went to him for my blades, never disappointed either." 

Blake eyed his blades, before nodding her approval and dismounting as they reached the clearing edge. Geralt dismounted as Roach went off in search of greener pastures to feast on. He knelt next to the trail Yang had been tracking, inspecting the footprints.

"Still visible, good sign." He said, happy to have a solid trail to follow. It was always fun trying to track witchers, who were trained to leave no tracks at all. 

Blake followed him through the forest, following the blood trail just as Yang had. Geralt was content to work in silence. As the sun began to set, they reached the clearing. Geralt smelled it before he saw it, the smell of rotting corpses. 

A few snarls and grunts from ahead, "Necrophages, wonderful." Geralt drew his blade as Blake drew hers. 

There were a few ghouls picking the bodies clean, their mouths dripping blood and marrow from the fallen. Geralt glanced at Blake, and she nodded. The ghouls were easy enough to dispatch, with a few well placed Igni signs and two witchers it was too easy. 

"Now to look around." Blake said as they sheathed their blades.

The bodies were all over the clearing, most wore ATLAS plate or leather, though a few sported runed armor that huntsmen commonly wore. Geralt counted at least 20 bodies, plenty of dismembered limbs. Blake knelt and brought a bomb casing near scraps of green clothing. 

"Dancing star." Blake said, tossing him the shell casing. Geralt caught it one handed, and inspected it briefly. It wasn't anything special, so he let it drop. Yang had certainly used a variety of items, probably in attempt to maintain crowd control. Geralt still remembered Vesemir's fencing lessons on facing multiple opponents. The old swordmaster had drilled crowd control into them for hours. Geralt looked over towards a pile of soldiers, and considered taking a closer look. Something else caught his eye.

He knelt next to a tree on the far side of the clearing, where two empty potion bottles were discarded. He sniffed each bottle, the faint scent lingering even hours later. "Ekimmara decotion, Ekhidna decotion. She was preparing for a long, drawn out fight." 

"Over here, werewolf decotion." Blake said, throwing him a stoppered potion bottle. He caught it, and sloshed the contents around. "Trying to retreat?"

He placed the decotion next to his own in his belt pouch, "Probably saw Neo escape and wanted to break off. With two decotions in her system though, it was best she didn't drink that." He had seen plenty trainee witchers overdose on decotions, it never was a pretty sight. "What is it with fledgling witchers and thinking they can drink that much and survive?" 

Blake didn't answer, so Geralt kept inspecting the bodies. It was always different inspecting wounds left by witchers, something Geralt couldn't quite place. The bodies were already infected in the long cuts, and Geralt sniffed one such festering wound. "Hanged Man's Venom, pretty potent brew. Someone paid attention to Wallace's lessons."

One huntsman body was cut in two, "Hmmm. Cut in half, Igni must have weakened his armor." Geralt traced a finger over the scorched dark iron runed plate, before rising. 

"Find anything?" He asked Blake, who was sniffing another bomb casing.

She turned and set down the casing fragment, "Wagon tracks start over there." She motioned towards a gap in the trees heading towards the witcher's path. 

"Probably a good a lead as any. Given the mix of ATLAS and Vale huntsman, It's likely Yang is going south towards Vale." Geralt said, whistling to Roach, who came trotting out of trees. 

"Only one way to find out." Blake mounted her horse, before looking over at Geralt, "I don't think I said this yet, so thank you." She was worried, and Geralt sympathized. You bonded with the witchers that survived your trial the most, and it always hurt the most when one of them died. Geralt didn't want Blake to have to go through that raw pain so soon after the trials. 

"Today you, tomorrow me." Geralt took one last look at the clearing, the bodies still gave off a pungent odor. The necrophages would be back soon, probably would build a nest by the time he returned. It would have to be Eskel's problem, or Lambert's if he felt like being useful for once. 

He drove his heels into Roach's side, and Blake did the same to her horse. There was still a good 5 hours of daylight left, he was hoping to reach the end of the witcher's trail and be at the local inn by nightfall. With a stroke of luck, their captors would stop there too. If they wanted a peaceful journey home however, Geralt was certain they wouldn't get one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I wanted to do multiple POV's, but I figured for this part of the story I'd have to, otherwise you would get stuck with a lot more: How did this happen? type questions, and I'd rather avoid as many Dues Ex Machinas as possible. Yang is still going to be the main POV, though I will shift if the story requires it for a time.
> 
> Any other feedback is welcome, I'm doing a weird mish mash of Witcher time-lines, not sure how that is going to work out, but I have a general idea of where I'm going. I'm trying to make it make as much sense as possible. Something I plan to flesh out in later chapters. Any advice from Witcher or RWBY loremasters is welcome there too.


	4. The Roosting Cockatrice Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang is taken closer to Vale while Blake and Geralt continue their rescue mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, I've been really busy and am extremely sorry it took so long to get out. Had to figure out how I wanted this to play out, and life didn't make it easy to put it all to paper. Apologies and hopefully this doesn't become a regular thing.

________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Road to Vale, Several hours later...)

Yang sat frozen for several hours, wedged between a barrel smelling of leeks and a barrel smelling of something flammable. She couldn't move or adjust herself, and as the wagon bumped or rocked along the road, she would be banged against one of the barrels. None of her captors seemed inclined to help, instead sleeping or dealing with their wounds. Yang glanced at her sister, and wondered if she should still call her that. Witcher's didn't have families, they had The Path, and only the friends they made walking it. She wasn't sure where that left Ruby, who had certainly tried to kill her. She tried to shift and failed, the cut across her back left a lingering pain as it slowly scabbed over.

"Come on, you didn't take that much of a hit..." Blond knight was mumbling to himself as he pressed his hand onto his leg cut. Yang could no longer smell the puss from the infection, which surprised her. Wallace, Kaer Morhen's resident potion master, had taught them to brew Hanged Man's Venom so potent it would stay infected for a week at least before fading or killing the victim. 

She watched as he kept focusing on his leg, mumbling to himself as the redhead slept next to him, broken arm set in a makeshift sling from a dismantled crossbow and a piece of stray plywood. The pink haired woman with the warhammer was snoring as she leaned against the wagon back, the green robed swordsman was sharpening his blade quietly with a whetstone, not even glancing in her direction. Ruby was still studiously blind as her white haired companion slept leaning on her shoulder. Yang wondered where the white hair came from, she had only seen one person with such a trait. Her thoughts wandered to what Geralt and the others were doing, searching for her or dealing with their own problems?

Yang spent the next few hours trying to think of a way to escape, and failing. Her hands were bound with dimeritium cuffs, so she couldn't use a blade or cast a sign. Her potion and bomb belt was draped over Ruby's shoulder, well enough out of her reach for now. She couldn't even shift to keep her blood flow normal, the spell still locking her down hours after its casting. When she finally got a chance to move around, she would be surprised if her legs carried her 20 feet before going numb or giving out from lack of circulation. Yang couldn't even close her eyes, so she stared at the sky as it started towards night, and tried to meditate. 

A voice startled Yang out of her half trance, gruff and tired. "Room and food for 15" It called to someone else, before a door slammed shut. The wagon had stopped, and the sounds of people dismounting and complaining sounded around her. Their makeshift convey had stopped somewhere, probably the local inn. 

Yang watched as her captors started to stir. They each checked their surroundings, pointless as it was. If someone had wanted to ambush them, one lobbed fire bomb into their wagon and everyone would have died. Still, she waited as they checked their surroundings before dealing with her. White hair and the blond knight grabbed her feet and dragged as the others began taking care of the wagon. 

Yang hit the ground with a grunt, a dull ache forming in her back. The white haired girl knelt down and pressed a finger into Yang's forehead, and her body suddenly came back under her control again. 

"Cooperate, or next time I'll freeze your heart." Her eyes stared into Yang's, icy blue and hard. Yang just nodded before stretching, grateful for a free range of motion. 

The blond knight helped her to her feet, and motioned towards the stables. "Move." His voice was calm, but it held a faint edge to it. Yang could tell he was still angry at his friend's death, though by his tone she couldn't tell if it was at her or at himself. She walked, glancing at the inn. 

It was a well enough establishment, well used to witcher traffic. Most witchers used it on the way back to winter, and their custom had helped the owner add a second floor, fresh paint, and a tiled roof. A few drunks were staggering around the back, and laughter came from the common room. The stables were also rather sturdy, housing 10 horses over a well treated wooden roof. She was forced into an empty pen, and her cuffs were tied to the post of the pen divider. 

Yang tried tensing her wrists, but the blond knight gave her a small smile and rapped her wrists. Yang relaxed them and shrugged at him, it was always worth a shot. "My dad was a sailor, he taught me a lot about knots." The knot was complex and tight, though Yang still had decent circulation. She sank to the floor as he walked into the pen and sat across from her. They sat in silence for a while, the horses whining and chewing in the background. Yang tried to distract herself from the smell. She had been on battlefields, necrophage feasts, and many other putrid places, but the adrenaline and life or death stakes had overwhelmed any sense of smell. Now left to stew in it, she turned to scrutinizing her jailor. 

His hair was kept short, and his face was well groomed compared to most wandering mercenaries. The armor was white and dust forged, probably somewhere in ATLAS. She could just make out the faint grandmaster's sign etched onto the plate just below the armpit. There were only 5 known grandmaster smiths. Yang struggled to remember her lessons on basic history. The Grandmaster hadn't placed a huge focus on basic courses, though every witcher was expected to have a basic background in most subjects to aid in investigating monster attacks. She couldn't remember any that had that symbol as their mark, which meant it was old. 

"Nice piece, how old?" She asked, and the knight turned to give her a surprised look. She shrugged as much as she could with the chains.

The knight glanced down at his armor, and ran a finger over its gold trim. "Don't know." He shrugged and threw a rock against the opposite wall, bored. "Its been in the family for a while now." She nodded and leaned her head against a bale of hay, studying the etches in the ceiling. All the other huntsman had been wearing plate forged within the last decade, by the glances Yang had snagged during her fight. She wondered why this one alone was different. The fact it was forged by a grandmaster of the craft only heightened her curiosity.

"Are you really incapable of feeling emotions?" The knight suddenly blurted out a minute later, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer. Yang looked at him again, giving him a bored look as she tested her cuffs again. He was looking at her with a guarded interest, and Yang bristled slightly. She still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of being stared at like an oddity, a freak. 

"I feel plenty. Rage at the people who attacked my home and burned it to the ground for no reason other than they didn't like us. I felt sorrow walking among the bodies of my friends, brutally murdered by those they were meant to protect." She spat, and the knight gave a look of...pity? "And very, very rarely, I feel happiness, like when I was gutting your friends in front of you." The knight flinched, and looked away.

"Human enough for you?" Yang asked, and the knight looked at her with an expression somewhere between confused and sad. It caught her off guard, she expected him to get defensive or angry at her.

He drew his sword and began to sharpen it, shaking his head as he did so. "Did you want to become a witcher?"

She gave him a confused look. "Nobody wanted it, but we all chose to walk The Path regardless. Most hated the school for doing it to us, or they just chose to move on and do their job."

"If you didn't want to, then why did you chose to go through with it?" He asked, sharpening his sword and trying to not look at her. "Why did you stay in those death camps?" Yang stared at the floor for a minute, asking herself the same question. Ryan, Lambert, and so many others had all said they considered leaving, yet none did. 

Why did she stay? They had all hunted down monsters in the woods, fully armed and supplied, but none had left. "The adventure, the challenges, the purpose. Every day we learned something new, pushed ourselves to the limit and beyond. It was a rush, and I thrived. I never even considered going back to something normal after our first hunt." Yang said, and the knight frowned, considering. "It was about a month in, there were three of us in each group, and we were told to burn down a local monster nest. My group was Blake, Samuel, and me. There we were, moving through the forest with silver swords, chain armor, two dancing star bombs, and one torch, and no idea what was coming next." She paused, massaging her wrists. It was the last place she expected herself to be, swapping stories with her captor while trying not to smell the horse shit all around them.

The knight was listening, and Yang debated on wether or not to continue. It wasn't something that was consequential, but at the same time it felt deeply personal and private. She sighed and continued, ignorance caused most problems in the first place. "There were three drowners at the lake's edge, though they heard us long before we heard them. I almost died when one jumped at me from behind a tree in the dark. Blake dropped the torch as we fought. I don't know how I survived, I guess years of training took over as I scrambled backwards as it lunged and slashed at me through the trees. I could barely see anything, yet somehow I managed to cut its head off." Yang laughed at the memory. 

She looked at the ceiling and continued, "It was only then I realized that I was bleeding from a dozen different cuts, yet I somehow managed to limp my way back towards the nest. There sat Blake and Samuel, bleeding yet alive. We stood for a while watching the nest burn, finally able to see each other clearly. We all looked like shit, but we all just glowed with satisfaction, adrenaline, and life. I wouldn't trade that moment for anything, any life. It was still horrible, and wrong, but it was needed. The world needs witchers, there is always something that needs killing."

"Does it though? Did they deserve a pass for creating monsters when we're trying to rid the world of them?" He asked bitterly, and Yang wasn't sure how to respond. Of course the world needed witchers, who else could stem the tide of Grimm and other filth?

They sat in silence for a while, which suited Yang just fine. The knight just there, thinking. Yang started to meditate. It was at least an hour later when the stable door opened, and the red haired girl walked in with two bowls of food. The knight looked up from where he was oiling his sheath.

"Hey Pyrrha." He said as the red haired girl sat down across from him on the third wall in the pen. 

"Hello Jaune, just came to check on you." Pyrrha smiled at him, "I can take the next watch, you need some rest." He tried to protest, but he couldn't stifle a yawn. Pyrrha just smiled and jerked her head towards the door. "Go, Ren has a plate of food saved for you, if Nora didn't get to it first."

Yang watched him sigh and get up with a small smile, before trudging out to the stable. Yang glanced at Pyrrha with a newfound fascination, her arm was healed completely, no splint or limit in its motion. Her armor was a golden bronze, with infused dust runes on her gauntlets, and her sword was still on its sheath across her back. Vesemir had always told her that she could tell alot about a swordsman by their hilt. Nobles, fools, and prettyboys had jeweled hilts, encrusted with gold and other pointless decorations. Soldiers, commoners, and mercenaries had battered leather hilts or rusted metal grips. True skilled swordsmen had a oiled, polished, and plain hilt worn with use, but well maintained. Yang saw the glint of a good polish on the worn metal hilt, and touched the faint scar at her side from Pyrrha's blade, she would be trouble when Yang tried to escape. 

"Blade's freshly polished and cleaned, hard to do with a broken arm." Yang said amiably, and Pyrrha looked at her, her green eyes appraising Yang. "Huntsmen heal fast, and witcher blades aren't that different from normal steel. Took a little while though, the siege took alot out of me."

Yang shrugged, and tried to fish for some information. "Guess you did get some of our potion recipes after all." Pyrrha shook her head and stretched her healed arm.

"We use something else." She brought out a book from her satchel, and started to read. Yang could tell she wasn't going to get a further explanation right now, so she grabbed the plate of food Pyrrha had set in front of her, and sniffed it. 

"Its not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering." Pyrrha said, looking up at her. "Though you might want it to be." 

"That a threat?" Yang said, setting her plate down to scrutinize the red haired warrior. Pyrrha just shrugged, returning to her book. 

"Jaune's nice enough to you, out of curiosity. I think you're just another challenge. Ruby and Weiss don't like you, but can stand to look at you. However, we're taking you to Ozpin. He really doesn't like witchers, at least not after last year." Pyrrha turned the page as Yang took a bite of her soup, thinking. 

She was likely being taken to this Ozpin for torture and to get information, after which she would either be executed or used for sport. Neither option appealed to her, even though a witcher never died in their bed there were still preferable deaths to being gutted while bound and helpless.

The soup was well enough, the innkeep had added a splash of redwine as usual. Yang let herself slip into meditation. She went back to her duel with the huntsmen, playing through every strike and analyzing her failures as well as her opponents fighting styles, which would likely be useful later. 

 

The stable door slammed open in the middle of the night, and several footsteps rushed in with a quiet yet urgent pace. Yang opened her eyes as her most recent watcher, the man she presumed was Ren, stood and grapped one of his short swords. Weiss, Ruby, and Pyrrha came around the corner, all three with heavy cloaks over their armor and torches in their hands.

"Ruby, what's going on?" Ren said, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the sleeping horses. All three were nervous, Yang noticed, casting furtive glances towards the inn and adjusting their weapons. 

"We need to leave, I'll explain as we go. Help me with the witcher." Ruby whispered as Weiss and Ruby walked over and hauled Yang to her feet. It still hurt to see her own sister act as if she wasn't even family, regardless of the amount of time that had passed. 

A strip of cloth was jammed into Yang's mouth and tied tightly around the back of her head. Weiss and Ruby half lead, half dragged her through the back of the stable's entrance. Ren and Pyrrha walked steadily behind them, watching the inn with the same glances. Yang didn't like this, something wasn't right, and she kept trying to look back at the inn. Weiss yanked her head forward by the chin as they approached the edge of the clearing and approached the main road. The moon was still directly overhead, and the dirt path was deserted as all travelers had gone to ground for the night. 

The pink haired one, Nora, was waiting for them with 6 horses and an impatient look on her face. Her full plate chinked slightly as she tapped her foot on the grass, "Come on, come on!" Her voice was low, but urgent. Yang's unease at being led away grew, something here worried them. So close to Kaer Morhen, it had to be a witcher. Had Blake or Neo come looking?

"You even try it, and I will freeze your ribs and shatter them." Weiss whispered into Yang's ear as she tensed to make a break for it, and she sighed. She wasn't in a position to prevent such a spell, so she let herself be unceremoniously thrown across the front of Ruby's mount, and tied down. The entire party galloped down the main rode, cloaks flowing behind them as the wind picked up. They passed by a massive camp of drunken revelers, who gave them confused looks as they passed, and Yang watched them as Ruby's horse sped past. 

She got one last look at the inn before they rounded the next treebend, and her heart stopped. Adam, Blake's horse, was tied to a post with one other horse in the front of the inn. Elation and crushing resignation overcame her at once, she was being followed by a friend. However, now her captors knew it, and would be doubly as careful. A small pit of worry began to form in Yang's stomach at the thought of her friend walking into an ambush. 

She tested her bindings, and Ruby drove a knee into her shoulder from the saddle. "Don't even try it, I can run you down any day." Yang gritted her teeth and lay still as the horse bucked her around while it galloped down the road. All she could think of was how every minute her friend, and her salvation, drew farther and farther away. 

________________  
(Blake, Witcher's Trail, 1 hour ago...)

Adam neighed as he leapt over a small pile of splintered wagon wood on the road away from Kaer Morhen, the road was littered with such leavings from the siege party. It made riding full speed hell, but somehow Roach and Adam managed to keep up a healthy pace. Beside her, white mane flowing in the breeze, Geralt was whispering encouragement to his horse.

"Come on Roach, that's it." He whispered, and Blake's ears twitched as they rounded another bend. 

"Do you always talk to your horse?" Blake asked, glancing back at Geralt. Every witcher dealt with the loneliness of The Path differently, but that was a new one for her. 

"He's my type of travel partner, quiet and useful." Geralt said, "Perfect for conversation."

Up ahead the inn lay nestled in a clearing next to the road, its chimney lazily trailed smoke. A few horses were tethered in front to the post, and further along a stable sat. Blake assumed it was full, judging by the horses out front. A few drunks were pissing on a dirty wagon on the side of the inn. 

Blake pulled up on Adam's reigns as they neared the inn, before dismounting alongside Geralt. They tethered their horses in silence, before entering the inn. Blake let Geralt take the lead, slipping back behind him a fraction as he pushed open the inn's door. Geralt had more experience than she did at tracking, and assessing roadside inns than she did, though every witcher had to know how to read an inn, they were pivotal stops for contracts, supplies, information, and rest on The Path. 

Blake took this inn in at a glance as she stopped behind Geralt, who was surveying the room. The first thing Blake noticed was the smell, a mixture of roasting meat and piss. Blake didn't flinch, after she had helped Yang collect the trophy from the gravehag outside Novigrad she wasn't sure anything could touch her nose like that again. The innkeeper was a shorter man, with a lean build and a relaxed manner, he was well used to oddities passing through. He gave them both a nod in greeting as he cleaned a mug from behind a heavyset oak counter, and returned to his work. 

The inn was rather full for the season, with some patrons scattered around the wooden tables. Blake counted at least 10 with swords and plate, and her ears flattened slightly. She knew they had been a part of the siege, their scratched armor and swords were on prominent display. Blake smelled blood on them, just under the scent of lots of booze. Each affixed Blake and Geralt with angry and surprised stares, and Blake tensed.

"Let it go." Geralt whispered to her as he walked over to the bar. "We don't need a fight to slow us down. They aren't keen on fighting either." Blake glanced back, where a few of the soldiers were spitting on the floor and mumbling among themselves, though none had touched their swords. 

The innkeeper set out two mugs as they got closer. "Good to see some regular faces, drinks on the house. Heard about that fightin up there, bad for business." He shook his head slightly.

Geralt sat down at a bar stool, and Blake did the same. "Cintrian Faro, if you have it. Looking for another witcher, purple eyes, blond hair, would have been with soldiers." Geralt said, sliding a few crowns across the counter. The innkeep pocketed them, his protest dying on his lips as Geralt's stared him down. 

"No luck I'm afraid, she hasn't been here." He turned to Blake, eyebrows raised in question. Her heart sank a little, they must have bypassed the inn entirely. She absolutely refused to consider the other option. 

"Water please." She said, before watching the closest table out of the corner of her eye. Geralt busied himself with picking dandruff from his beard. 

There were two soldiers at the table, one man and one woman. The woman was around 5'5, from Blake's rough guess. She had a bowstaff across her back, and was wearing chain mail with iron greaves and gauntlets. Blake noticed that she kept glancing at them both out of the corner of her eye, and hadn't touched her stew since Blake and Geralt sat down. Her companion was a tall man, with a scar on his left cheek from his jaw to his lower eye. A sword hung from his belt, stained red with dried blood. His eyes kept flicking towards the doors, and he kept shifting his heavy plate armor as if readying for something. 

"Huntsman in that corner table, watching us." Blake whispered to Geralt, who was bent over sideways, cleaning dirt from his boot with the innkeeper's rag. 

He straightened just as the innkeeper returned with the mugs he had offered, both filled to the brim. She noticed his dismayed look as Geralt put the dirty rag onto the counter. He noticed it to, because he tossed another coin to the man. "Sorry, it was important." He shrugged before grabbing his ale. Blake grabbed her water and sloshed it around a bit as the innkeeper walked away, and what Blake could only guess was his daughter skidded past, carrying three bowls of soup.

Geralt took a long drink from his mug, "Yeah, two more on the second table by the door. Was able to get a good luck while cleaning." Blake glanced at the table while punching Geralt's shoulder with an exaggerated motion.

Her brow furrowed with distaste, the two at this table were both reeking of booze and used dust infusions. The first was a dwarf, with a grey beard and one eye glassy. A battleaxe leaned against the table to his left, knicked and dinged from hard use. Blake noticed he was looking at the back door, shoulders tensed. The second was a man with blond hair, a bastard sword slung across his back, and a hollow look on his face as he sloshed around a mug of ale. She saw as the innkeeper's daughter darted past their table toward's a few disgruntled peddlers, who were busy playing Gwent and gambling with the various trinkets the sold on the road. 

As the faunus passed a table with a few soldiers deep into their cups, a soldier reached out and grabbed her slender brown dog tail and yanked. Blake gritted her teeth as the faunus yelped in surprise and pain, dropping the platter of soups onto the floor with a clatter. She felt her ears flatten in anger, and a dozen different ways to end each of the soldier's lives started flashing in Blake's head. 

The soldier chuckled to his friends as he yanked the squirming girl into his lap. The faunus was looking to her father for help, and Blake saw him reach under the counter for something. "Well well lads, I caught meself the wench who can't seem to find any more beer!" The soldier was saying to his comrades. One snorted at him, shaking his head.

"Idiot, how's she gonna get us food from them flabs of lard ye call legs?" He said with a wave of his mug, and the other soldier only grinned as the faunus tried without success to squirm free. 

"You can serve me somethin else, somethin sweet mayhaps?" The soldier chuckled and went in for a sloppy kiss. Blake felt the anger like a ball of fire in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't even know she was rising until Geralt forcefully placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in. She didn't know what set her off, the fact that the girl was a faunus, or that the soldiers were extremely overreaching. 

Geralt's voice was gruff, but kind. "Let it go, they've had to put up with stuff like this for years." Another indignant protest from the innkeeper's daughter sent Blake's neck hairs on end, and Geralt squeezed her shoulder gently to keep her in place. "There's another reason we don't hunt humans." Geralt whispered, "If we starting taking contacts on the monsters among them, we'd be too busy to even think about the inhuman kind of monsters. Its a rabbit hole you don't want to go down, trust me."

Blake had to breathe in and out for a good 10 seconds while the innkeeper walked over and started asking the soldier to behave, otherwise she would do something she wouldn't regret, but Yang might. "Let's go, she had to have left tracks or something behind." Blake drained her water and slammed it into the counter, frustrated at the soldiers, herself, Geralt, the innkeeper, and everyone else that wasn't helping. "She's got to be close, and its clear we won't get anything from the innkeep."

Geralt nodded, and let his hand fall as they both pushed away from the bar. Blake had to force herself to focus on the battered wooden door to the back of the inn as she walked towards it. Geralt was right behind her, but she heard more people making to rise. The huntsman were following them out, no doubt to fight. She wasn't sure if it was to make sure they didn't find Yang, or if they just wanted to finish what they started at Kaer Morhen. The daughter of the innkeeper made another protesting yelp, and Blake didn't care why they were following her. She could use something to kill right about now. 

The back of the inn was littered with the day's leavings of food and other trash from various traveling vagrants. Blake and Geralt moved as one, turning and drawing their steel swords as they exited the inn. Blake grabbed her Hanged Man's Venom from her belt, and quickly poured a little over her blade. It wouldn't be as effective as a dedicated application, but it would be better than nothing. 

"Should have pre-applied it like I did. Between bandits and wolves I know which one an oil is more useful for." Geralt said as he drew his sword, an Blake knew he was right. Cursing her mistake, she gripped Gambol slightly harder as the 4 huntsman exited the building. They each had weapons drawn, fanning out into a slight semi-circle.

"So, looking to slink off into the wilderness after the massacre?" The dwarf said, leaning the battleaxe against his shoulder as he put on a visored helmet. The visor was in the shape of a T, with extended plates covering his lower face and cheeks, and a spike emerged from the top of his helmet. 

"A few of your friends ran off with one of ours. We'd like her back." Geralt's hand loosely gripped his steel sword and Blake saw him flex his other hand slightly as one of the huntsman shifted his weight. 

"The bitch that murdered Neillen?" The girl said as she slid the bowstaff off her shoulder and twirled it twice. Blake felt a surge of hope, if she knew who Yang was then it she was likely part of the group that captured her. 

"Where is she?" Blake demanded, only to have them laugh. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The huntsman with the bastard sword said, before making to swing. 

Geralt struck first with Aard, as Blake suspected based on his hand pattern. She grabbed and threw a grapeshot bomb from her pouch right into the middle of the cluster. It detonated and sent them all staggering back a few steps. The huntress with the bowstaff used the momentum to spin and come down with a diagonal strike, stopping Geralt's advance as he side-stepped and came at her side. 

Blake went left and used Aard on the dwarven huntsman, sending him crashing into the trash heap behind the inn. She pivoted and slashed Gambol at the huntsman with the bastard sword. He brought his sword up fast, too fast for a weapon that size. She ducked and slashed at his left knee, but once again the blade was there to deflect her strike. Blake side-stepped as he swung upwards from her feet to her head, the blade slicing past her with inches to spare. She brought Gambol in fast across the chain mail neck piece, but her blade never connected. Blake felt it slide off of something and bounce away without an effect. 

"What?" Blake said, before the huntsman recovered and drove an armored knee into her gut. 

She staggered back and gasped for air, as the huntsman just laughed. "Didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Blake looked up an saw a field around him, it was burning a sickly green color. The Hanged Man's Venom was eating away at whatever was protecting him. 

He swung again, and Blake brought Gambol up with a start, his bastard sword was moving faster than some daggers would. She staggered back with the force of the blow, and her arms started to lose feeling. Blake gritted her teeth in frustration, and side-stepped his next cut as it slid past her shoulder. She cast Ignii, the flame spread licking at his armor as he stepped back, his protection engulfed in flames. 

Geralt ducked under the bowstaff on her right, and kicked the huntress back into the other huntsman. He turned and threw Samum. Blake ducked under a sideways swing from the huntsman and turned her face, and Samum detonated. The huntsman staggered backwards, blinded. She made to go for the killing strike, but the dwarf was there, swinging his battleaxe downwards at her. Blake sidestepped, but the dwarf drove his shoulder into her chest. 

Blake grabbed another grapeshot and threw as she rolled backwards, but the dwarf simply tanked the explosion, while the other huntsman advanced alongside him. Blake used axii on the dwarf, but he only smiled as he kept coming. 

"Immunity to magic, handy semblance." His battleaxe swung again, and Blake leapt backwards, before moving in with Gambol in a complex flourish. 

His battleaxe was deadly, but unwieldy. Blake feinted low and slashed at his upper chest. The dwarf tried to move his handle while stepping back, but he was far too slow and Gambol slammed into his barrier. Blake spun and cut at his lower thigh, but his barrier held. Blake felt the barrier give though, as her oil spread across the barrier and slowly poisoned it. The huntsman with the bastard sword swung at Blake's midsection, and she dodged too slow. The sword cut her stomach from the middle to the edge, about a inch deep. Blake rolled over to Geralt and cast Quen, feeling the spell coat her body with a protective layer. 

"You good?" Geralt said as he parried the huntsman's short sword and cast Igni in the gap. 

"Yeah." Blake needed to rethink her strategy. These huntsman were protected by something she wasn't sure she could penetrate. It was probably magical, which meant that she did have a option. 

Blake grabbed a dimeritium bomb and threw it at the feet of both huntsman. They both staggered slightly as the air around them rippled and shook, the green mist of the dimeritum bomb surrounded and seeped into the barrier. Both flickered and eventually collapsed as both moved in to attack her. She rolled to the side and pressed a hand into the ground, her fingers tracing the pattern for Yrden. The glyphs appeared in a small circle around her, and both huntsman slowed down. 

The bastard sword cleaved down at a slightly slower speed, and Blake stepped closer and drove her shoulder into the plate mail chest. He staggered backwards as Blake spun and cut downward at the dwarf's chest. He brought his axe up just in time to save his life, with Gambol slicing down across his shoulder to the lower forearm. The dwarf stepped back, and before Blake could move to finish him, a bolt slammed into her shoulder from behind. 

Pain lanced through her shoulder, and she turned to see the huntress with the bowstaff standing there with a small crossbow in her hand. Geralt was busy fighting the swordsman, both spinning in a contest of bladesmanship. She broke the bolt off at the shaft and turned in time to have the bastard sword slice her from the lower left chest to her upper right shoulder. 

"Agh!" She gasped and fell over with the strength of the blow, and the huntsman brought his blade up and tried to bring it down. She cast Aard, and the huntsman was thrown backwards, not expected the blast. Blake rolled to her feet, grimacing in pain. She threw her last grapeshot at the dwarf, before grabbing swallow from her belt and chugging. She could feel her wound begin to close as her eyes dilated and the sky grew uncomfortably bright, even for night, for a few seconds as her skin grew paler. 

The dwarf swung his battleaxe again, but Blake was ready. She cast Quen, and felt her legs grow heavier as a golden shield appeared. The battleaxe crashed into the shield, and Blake stumbled backwards as the dwarf was knocked off balance. Blake recovered faster, and swung Gambol down at his left arm, hard. He screamed as his severed arm fell to the ground, battleaxe in hand. She spun as he screamed, and decapitated the huntsman. 

She turned and watched as Geralt cut through the huntress's bowstaff, his sword biting deep into her shoulder. He was bleeding from several cuts to his chest. The huntsman with the sword was still fighting through a samum and Yrden combination several \feet to the left. Blake threw a dimeritum bomb at him and watched as he fell to one knee in pain as the magical barrier around him was battered down. 

That was a stupid mistake, one that Vesemir had warned them about, never turn their back on an enemy. Blake had forgotten in her anger, and the bastard sword came down. She heard a grunt and turned just in time to see the blade begin to fall. Reacting on pure instinct, she brought Gambol up, and her arms went numb with the force of the blow. Blake's stomach screamed in pain with the weight of the impact. She gritted her teeth and cast Axii, the huntsman stepped back, stunned only for a second before he was coming back at her again. That second was all Blake needed, and Gambol cut his leg's ligaments with her desperate swing, cutting through the heavy metal plate even with such little leverage. He toppled over, and a quick stab through the mouth ended his life. 

Blake turned her head and watched as Geralt ran the last remaining huntsman through, his sword pinned under Geralt's boot. The White Wolf staggered backwards as the huntsman fell, and slowly sheathed his blade. His armor was covered with minor cuts, though only a few had managed to break his skin. The one on his upper right shoulder looked bad, the huntsman had really scored a serious hit there. Geralt grabbed a swallow from his belt and slowly drank, before returning the vial to his belt and walking over to where Blake lay panting. 

"You okay?" He asked, bending over and extending a hand to her. Blake gratefully took it and rose to survey the rest of the carnage. There was blood and scorch marks all over the grass, and the bodies hadn't stopped bleeding, still soaking the ground a deep crimson. 

Blake flexed her shoulder and took a quick inventory of her wounds. The huntress's bolt was barbed, and she would need Geralt's help and someplace quiet to remove it. Her stomach cuts were healing well thanks to the swallow, though the one on her lower stomach would leave a scar. Overall, she wasn't in terribly shape considering how sloppily she fought. "Gonna need help removing this barbed bolt head." She said, sheathing Gambol. 

Geralt inspected the wound, before prodding it lightly with one finger. Blake tensed in pain at the contact. "Gonna need some rest too, swallow won't cover that alone." 

Blake sighed in frustration, and made for the forest, "Come help me set up camp, I doubt the soldiers in the inn will appreciate the sight of us covered in their friend's blood." 

It took an hour to find a spot close by yet well hidden from any vengeful soldiers, gather the firewood, and start the fire. Blake's shoulder hurt every time she moved it move than a few inches, but she ignored the pain and tried to hide it. She felt ashamed that her carelessness in the fight was slowing them down.

Geralt threw another log into their fire. "I'm going to have a look around the rest of the property tonight while you catch some rest." Blake tried to protest, but Geralt put a finger to her lips and resumed working. 

"Sorry about..." Blake grunted as he cut a piece of her skin back and began to wiggle the barb out. It felt like a foglet was clawing into her shoulder. "being careless tonight." Geralt grunted and wiggled the barb further out, sending another lance of pain into Blake's arm.

"Its always hard fighting an enemy you don't know how to prepare for." Geralt said, wiping some blood off her back before continuing. "I remember my first time fighting a scurver, I had no idea that they exploded on death. I cast Igni to finish it off, and when it started to gurgle I knew what was coming. I couldn't cast another sign fast enough, so I ran." He adjusted the barbed point, and a piece dug into her skin, causing Blake to wince in pain. "I still got at least a half dozen stuck in my back, had to pay a local herbalist to help me get them out. Hurt like a bitch, cost me some of the contract money too." Geralt finished, and pulled the barbed bolt free. Blake leaned forward a little and let out a small breath as he briefly inspected the wound. 

"Looks good." Geralt said, and Blake gritted her teeth. She always hated this part, no matter how many times she did it to herself or to others. 

"So now you do what Bojorn always insisted was the most important step." Blake clenched her fists and prepared herself mentally. 

Geralt quickly poured water onto the wound, washing out some of the blood and cleaning the skin of dirt and other grime. Witchers were immune to diseases, but some toxins had been known to cause witchers trouble, and it never hurt to be too careful. "Ready?" Geralt asked, and Blake nodded her head.

He cast Igni, and her wound lit on fire briefly as it cauterized itself, the searing pain eliciting a gasp of pain from Blake. "Ugh...thanks." She mumbled as Geralt gave her a pat on the back and rose. 

"Your welcome, though next time you might not get so lucky." He said, a flash of concern on his face. Blake watched as he turned and headed towards the inn to look around for any evidence Yang had been there. 

Blake rolled over and stared at the flames, tired. As the sun started to rise, She kept replaying the fight in her head, her mistakes were obvious, something 3rd year witchers did. Her thoughts drifted to Yang, and the fall of 5 years ago. They had met by "chance" outside of a small mountain town in Korvir, with both hunting a spriggan in the woods. The fight had been tough, though with two witchers the spriggan had fallen with only minor wounds sustained. Neither had been in any rush to leave, so Yang went and hunted down a few fishing rods using a few crowns in town. Blake smiled warmly at the memory of them both fishing in the lake, sometimes with their poles, sometimes with bombs when nothing was biting. It had been a nice change of pace, to forget The Path for a week and just spend time with a good friend. As Blake rolled over, she resolved that once she found Yang, they would do the same thing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully everything made sense and flowed well, if not then let me know what/why in the comments below. All help and feedback is appreciated, thanks for reading!


	5. Tribal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang and Ruby have a heart to heart, while Blake and Geralt run into a small 'snag' at Clearwater village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was fun to write. Hope I didn't mess up some of the important parts. More at the end. All feedback is welcome and needed! Thanks to Code_Musica, thatguywhowrites2098, and Ranger24, and everyone else for their feedback! Even the positive feedback helps, so thank you guys! Realized after I finished writing this that Ozpin wasn't addressed this chapter, and it didn't seem like it would fit with the natural flow of the story quite yet. Sorry DaveBehave, next chapter.

_______________________  
(Yang, Road to Vale, 3 days later...)

The last few days had been hell for Yang, who hadn't been moved from her uncomfortable position on the saddle front except for a few minutes to eat or relieve herself. Ruby and the others had been riding hard, bypassing any hamlets they passed. About a day ago they had started eating dried rations, mainly stale bread and dried beef. Little of those rations had been afforded to Yang, less and less of those remained as time went on. Nobody had tried to make her talk, or torture her for information, which was a plus. Witchers weren't trained in resisting interrogation, with the general philosophy being if you were dumb enough to get caught, you deserved what was coming to you. 

Ruby's horse rounded another bend at a canter, with Ren and Nora's not far behind. The other's horses were starting to lag behind, panting heavily and frothing a little at the mouth. Weiss pulled up on her reins at the side of a small clearing, presumably used by other travelers. Jaune and Pyrrha followed suit, both their horses sighing in relief as their saddles were loosened, letting both breathe easier. They unloaded several bundles, including sleeping rolls and a small cooking pot. 

Ruby turned, confused at the sight of the three huntsman making camp. She pulled up on her horses reins as Ren and Nora did the same. "What are you doing?" Her voice was raised slightly, and Yang couldn't see her face from her position. "We have to keep going, its only two days until we reach Patch. From there we can rest and get in touch with Beacon." Yang tried to shift again, and made a noise of discomfort. The longer they were still and camping, the more time Blake would have to catch up. A bit of worry at what would happen when she did sprang up unbidden, and Yang chided herself. Blake was extremely capable, and would be alert and ready. 

Weiss let her shoulder's sag, the light plate on each covered with dirt and grime from the days of hard riding. "Ruby, we need rest. NCKL will need time to catch up, and if we run into trouble while bone tired we won't help anyone, including ourselves." Nora and Ren nodded agreement, their faces haggard, with grey bags underneath their dulled eyes. Yang noticed the absence of the vibrant color that usually shone through as they bantered on the road. 

Yang didn't object as Jaune and Pyrrha efficiently, but not forcefully, removed her from the saddle. She was too busy feeling the relief of moving after several hours of galloping down the uneven road. Ruby's eyes widened in panic, frustration, and whatever else the cocktail of emotions the adrenaline was pumping into her. "We can't stop, we're being hunted, tracked. It," she pointed at Yang while Pyrrha and Jaune propped her up against a tree. Her legs burned with the pain of newfound circulation, and Yang grimaced from her sister's glare as well as the pain. "is what they're after. We need to take it to Ironwood. He'll know what to do, especially since Ozpin..." 

"Started a genocide?" Yang offered bitterly, Jaune and Ruby shot her dirty looks. She ignored them, and observed how routinely Weiss, Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha began to set up a temporary camp. They must travel together often, which made sense since they fought well as a team.

Ruby's glare hardened, and Yang felt a pain in her chest at seeing her sister's eyes meet her's with nothing but hatred. She missed the days when they would finish with Dad's lessons and go play with the chickens behind their house. "Don't you dare disparage the dead, especially him." Ruby's silver eyes tore into Yang's skull, and she looked away from the glare. It didn't help, not at all. 

Weiss finished setting up her part of the camp, and set a hand on Ruby's shoulder. Yang watched her sister melt as that white-gloved hand squeezed, "Ruby, we have to rest. NCKL will have to catch up, and we've got a good head start on any pursuers." Ruby was already shaking her head.

"Its just CKL since Neillen was..." Ruby glared at Yang again, her hands shaking slightly, "butchered." Yang rubbed her stomach where Neillen's arrow had punched through her armor. Her only regret was that she had been sloppy enough to let herself get shot in the first place. 

"Tell that to Remus, his lost his entire team during the siege." Weiss said, drawing Ruby into a deeper hug, "But we'll get through it, and so will they." Envy rooted itself into Yang's chest as Ruby leaned in and sighed sleepily. Yang shifted her hands from where they were tied to the tree, resigning herself to another uncomfortable, almost sleepless night. 

As she began to close her eyes and slow her breathing, Yang's head was yanked upwards with extremely force. Her eyes flew open, and her body coiled itself to spring despite there being nowhere it could spring to. The aard sign died on her dimeritium cuffs as she met Ruby's eyes as they glared into Yang's with inches to spare.

"I want you to know that if Clara, Kelvin, Lesius, or Remus dies delaying your hunters, I will hold you responsible." Yang saw no remorse in her sister's eyes, which hurt her deeper than any blade could. Witchers still had family, most visited them at least once, and cared when they died. Yang remembered Ryan had planned to visit his brother in Clearwater before the siege, she hoped he had. Regardless, it was unlikely any of them were alive. If Blake had Neo with her, it was a forgone conclusion. 

"Ruby...I didn't want to kill anyone." Yang needed to thaw her sister out, free her from whatever ice her lover had locked her in. She refused to believe her sweet little sister had grown so jaded, so fast. "I didn't want anyone to die, for any of this to happen. I wanted to hunt monsters, help people damnit. None of us wanted a war, if anything we could have worked with huntsman!" She had to make Ruby realize she wasn't the enemy, this would likely be one of her only shots. If anything, she needed to know why they would waste so many lives on these crusades.

The rest of Ruby's party kept setting up camp while Ruby stared deeper into Yang's eyes, not responding for a while. Yang tried to focus on anything else, her red leather armor, the fire growing in the corner of her eye anything. Ruby's eyes refused to let go, and her hand was still locked around Yang's lower jaw, the strong grip of her sister's fingers was starting to ache. Yang wasn't sure why it mattered, but she didn't think she could live with her sister hating her. "Their lives aren't on us, they're on the person who ordered them to march to our gates. We fought back, nothing more."

"It is your fault, you and all your kind. Soulless beasts, inhuman killing machines, treacherous golems, that is ALL you are, Yang." Ruby spat her name, as if she wasn't fit to wear it. Indignation flared in Yang. How dare her own sister call her a beast? 

"We are not beasts, we're just enhanced." Yang said, noticing how the others in the travel party were busy not looking at either Ruby or Yang, perhaps realizing this was a largely family matter. "The School of the Wolf creates...created, beast hunters, not beasts." Why was it so hard for her to understand she was still Yang, her sister? Frustration welled in her chest, she wasn't ready for her own sister to disown her.

"Is that what they told you? That they "enhanced" you by removing your soul?" Ruby backed up a pace and drew a knife, its blade glinting faintly in the dim moonlight, it was sharp. Yang tensed, had she pushed her sister too far? Ruby didn't turn the blade on Yang, but instead drew it across her own neck. Revulsion and horror surged through Yang as she strained against the ties holding her, a horrified look on her face.

"Ruby!" Yang gave a startled cry, but no blood spilled down her sister's soft skin, and no cut marred her smooth neck. Ruby sheathed the spotless knife, and knelt in front of Yang again. She wasn't sure how to process what she just saw. Relief and revulsion warred for dominance, and Yang didn't know which she wanted to win. 

"Don't you see?" Ruby gestured to her neck, "Everyone has an aura, a physical representation of their soul. Everyone but witchers." She grabbed Yang's face again and dug her nails into Yang's cheeks, a trickle of blood drawing from the wounds. "You have no aura, no soul. Its gone, ripped out or destroyed. I can't feel it at all. You aren't Yang, you're just a witcher with her hair." She let Yang's face go, and wiped the blood on her fingernails onto the grass. 

Doubt and confusion rippled through Yang, who was wondering about the fight before. None of her opponents had an aura, "What about before? You didn't have an aura when we...at Kaer Morhen." Ruby looked up and frowned slightly at her, before sighing. 

"It was depleted in the siege." Ruby said, her eyes glazing over and growing somber as she remembered the unpleasant memories. "It has limits, just like everything else human." 

Yang looked at her sister, and wondered. If everyone had it, then why did no peasants have that shield? Did it need activating? "I don't feel soulless." Ruby scowled at her, her jaw clenching.

"You still don't get it, do you? Aura isn't just a barrier, its you, your soul, everything. It IS you, and you can learn alot about people by feeling their aura. To have such a unique, special, and beautiful thing torn out and weaponized is unspeakable in ways I can't even explain to you. I don't know what they did to Yang, but I hate you for being all that's left of my sister. I hate them for doing that to her." Yang watched as her sister clenched her fist and slammed it into the grass. "They deserved to burn for that alone, all the families they destroyed."

Yang tried to comfort her sister, but she wasn't sure how she could make Ruby see. She was still Yang, still her sister. Yang realized with pain that they couldn't ever have a normal childhood to bond over, but witcher or not she wanted Ruby to understand they were family. "Ruby, it's ME. I'm the same sister that used to take you out of school early with fake doctors notes to go see the weekly movie on friday with the other 6 year olds. I'm still your sister." Yang watched as her sister pursed her lips and mulled it over. A part of her worried her adrenaline fueled lash out at Kaer Morhen was making this harder, but she just hoped her sweet little sister would see the truth. 

Ruby slowly rose, and paused for a second. That second felt like an eternity to Yang, who waited for judgement, could she salvage a piece of her old life, of normalcy? It hadn't been a huge priority until the dragon attack at Patch, and she realized she might not have a home to come back to. Now that it was so close, so sweet it left her risking herself emotionally just to have a taste of what many witchers said they wanted: a taste of what they were safeguarding. She wanted to know what so many said she was missing. She glimpsed it for a few seconds in every hamlet she passed, a part of her Path that she couldn't find, but desperately wanted to. 

Her sister finally opened her mouth to speak, and Yang felt time stop. "No, you're not." It crashed around her as Ruby turned on a heel and walked over into Weiss's warm embrace by the campfire, her companions roasting pieces of dried meat as they talked among themselves quietly. She couldn't hear the words, not that she wanted to. She thought back to the old adage that each witcher walked their Path alone. Her thoughts drifted then to Neo, Ryan, Geralt, and Blake. Her friend's tiny half smile came to mind, as well as the years they shared at Kaer Morhen. No, if witchers walked The Path alone, then she would just walk a new one. The fact that her sister might not join her only worsened Yang's mood, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

"Get her up, we need to move." Pyrrha's voice woke Yang, and she sat up with a stretch. Her back protested, but she ignored it. 

The horses were packed and everyone except Pyrrha had mounted up, armor cleaned. Ruby's leather armor gleamed crimson, and red mail shone through as she eyed the road warily. Yang felt her ties get cut away with Pyrrha's travel knife, and she stood slowly. Once again she tested her dimeritium cuffs, and Weiss snapped. A small circle emerged on Yang's left forearm, and she felt ice sear her skin. The pain was intense, but Yang fought down a gasp and kept her expression neutral, she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her in this much pain. 

Weiss gave her a pointed look as she snapped her fingers again, and the glyph disappeared. "Don't try it, or the next one will be permanent." Yang didn't respond, an instead let Pyrrha help Ruby throw her over the front of her saddle.

The leather ropes tied into the saddle were fastened, and the party set off on the road. Yang once again tried to shift her weight in such a way that would send Ruby's mount off balance, hopefully crashing into one of her parties horses before collapsing. Once again, a red boot was driven into her side, and Yang stopped. 

The day was cloudy, and Yang was content to let the cool air wash over her as she tried to figure out how to escape from her sister. Patch was her best chance, since she knew the town and had a few friends there from several years ago. Yang needed to slip away to Hathem's smithy, he would remove her cuffs to return the favor for the nekkers she cleared out of his cellar several years ago. Yang had also left a pair of extra swords underneath an old wine barrel, rather than carry them back to Kaer Morhen. Part of it was to make sure that she returned to Patch soon, so she could work up the courage to visit Dad, she had been unable to approach the small homestead. It had seemed so much smaller than when she was a kid, and she couldn't marshal the strength to see then, her legs had turned to lead on her horse. Yang wasn't sure she would be able to face him again, not even after all these years passed. 

________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Road to Vale, 2 days ago...)

It had been a day of riding from the inn, with nothing but the dirt and a few light showers to keep Blake company, not that she wanted to get rained on. Geralt started to ease up on Roach as they rounded a bend and Clearwater came into view, its wooden wall splintered, with a few corpses strewn across its upper lip. The gate to the small town was slammed open, with one of the massive doors torn off its hinges, a few bodies laying underneath it. 

"Shit." Geralt drew steel, and Blake did the same as she kicked Adam into a small trot. She couldn't smell any smoke yet, and the sky was clear save for a few clouds.

Blake tightened her grip on Gambol and dismounted, grabbing another Samum bomb from her saddlebag and palming it. "This was recent, we need to check for survivors." Her ears flattened slightly as she passed a peddler, who was cut down as he tried to flee. A knot formed in her stomach, she would kill who ever did this.

Blake scanned the walls, alert for any possible ambushers, but so far all noise was coming from the far side of town. Geralt nudged a fallen militia guard with one boot, before kneeling to make a quick inspection, sliding his sword into his sheath. He ran a finger over the cut on the lower back, before flipping the corpse over. The face was bloated and contorted in pain, while the mail armor was deeply cut, with the links near the stomach stained crimson. A piece of the lower intestine hung out from the wound, its upper section deeply cut.

"Sword strike, cut through the mail shirt and cloth underneath without effort. Wound is clear of maggots, and the blood hasn't quite coagulated yet. Human, and likely bandit. 2, maybe 3 hours ago." Blake surveyed the beginning of town as he did his inspection. 

There were around 7 militiamen laying dead at the gate, none of them over 30. Each wore slightly rusted and loose mail shirts, and their swords weren't exceptionally sharp. Their attackers, however, were either better trained, or better supplied, perhaps both. "Run down militia, all young and inexperienced. Perhaps buying time for an evacuation of the village? Whoever attacked here either hid their dead or didn't lose anyone in storming the gates." Blake closed the eyes of a bull faunus militiaman, wincing at the sight of his stomach. 

"Warhammer crushed his ribcage, likely pierced his lungs. He was thrown," Blake turned and glanced at a slight indent in the wooden wall of the gatehouse, which was splattered with blood and splintered. "against that wall, where his lungs collapsed. Suffocated while bleeding out." She rose and turned to Geralt, who was finishing with another body. 

He turned and glanced at her body, "Professionals, well armed. Attacked about an hour before dawn, hard and fast." Blake nodded before turning inward to survey the town.

The road to the local inn was covered with bodies, almost all civilian up to the first house. Blake looked in vain among the bodies in some hope one was alive, but none were. Each had been cut down with precision, severed limbs or heads marking out most of the bodies. Furniture and other items were strewn across the street, with most home's doors kicked in and contents dragged out for looting. Blake saw everything from rusted kitchenware to empty mugs strewn in the street. Such senseless violence sickened her, especially when almost everyone here were poor farming families. Geralt wore a similar expression on his face, his mouth slightly downturned as he surveyed the carnage. Blake was about to confront him on being so reserved about the spectacle, but remembered he had likely seen much, much worse. 

Blake's boot landed on something that wheezed, and her eyes twitched at the sound. It couldn't have been human, or faunus. She reached down slowly, and prayed it wasn't what she thought it was. Her hand brushed something soft, and her heart sank as she pulled up a small homemade doll. It was in the shape of a wolf, with the fur being thread loving sewn in criss-cross patterns over the base by a doting parent. One eye was missing, and it had been dropped into the mud as the girl fled. She looked down, and felt as if someone had shoved magma into her blood when she saw the little girl. Her tiny flower dress was torn and cut, but a single broadhead bolt was sticking out of her chest.

Blake felt her chest tighten, "Why would anyone do this?" She asked Geralt, who was investigating the forge, ignoring the blacksmith's corpse draped over a small anvil, a gaping hole in his back.

He straightened, before continuing on. "Greed, insanity, pleasure, whim, it doesn't matter. At least not to the dead." He closed the eyes of a mother, who was laying near a bearded man. 

Blake and Geralt continued on, passing by more plundered houses and fresh corpses. Blake had never seen carnage this bad, not even in Leshen woods, nor even in the Bruxa nest Yang had helped her clear. The road was covered in bodies and blood, and the houses started to grow into even worse shape as Blake and Geralt drew closer. One body on the left hand side of the village road caught Blake's eye for a second, and she knelt beside it. 

Blake rolled the body over, and began her examination. The man, no, the boy, wore light plate armor in layers, with a red cloak covering most of it. The armor was blackened and charred near the stomach area. "Red-dust infused blade most likely, pierced the armor and charred the insides. Burned the gall bladder and colon, death followed soon after the stomach was torn open when the attacker removed his blade. Stomach acid finished the job, death was fast, but painful." Blake ran a finger across the armor, the cool metal slightly muddy from laying in the dirt. "Dimeritium plate? Red dust can't pierce through that, interesting."

"Find anything interesting?" Geralt said, walking over and peering over her. He raised an eyebrow at the body, "That isn't a common bandit."

Blake nodded agreement, and glanced at the bandit's face. A white mask with red highlights, its design was vaguely familiar, yet Blake couldn't quite place where she had seen it. "This mask isn't from any alloy I've ever seen." She said, rapping a knuckle against the cool surface. It was almost...bony.

Geralt gently nudged her to the side and knelt for a closer look. His eyes carefully scanned the pattern for a second, before he removed the mask and held it into the light. "It isn't metal, its bone. Grimm bone, looks like. This one belonged to a beowolf." He set the mask down and began his own inspection of the armor. 

Blake didn't remember learning about anyone that used Grimm bone for a crafting material, even in John of Brugge's exhaustive tomes on various tribal cultures. Especially since only slivers remained after the Grimm dissolved, making it hard to assemble or craft with Grimm bone. Maybe it was just a thing several desperate bandits did, though it didn't make sense. The plate armor was dimeritium, which meant this bandit could afford something more protective than a glorified masquerade mask. She shook her head in frustration and eyed his weapon, which was discarded a few feet away. The blade was ornate, and interlaced with three different dust infusions over the bastard sword. Blake hefted the blade and tested the edge, it was still sharp. A surge of anger overcame her when she saw the dried blood on its edges.

"Pretty well equipped for a common brigand." Blake observed, setting the blade down and turning back toward's Geralt. 

He stood up and grimaced as he stared down at the body, "This wasn't just a brigand. He was part of The Tribe. An extremely old, extremely skilled, and extremely ruthless clan of warriors. This was one of their unbloodeds." Blake looked at the body, and gritted her teeth. Her ears flattened in anger at what Geralt was implying.

She looked at him, "So the unblooded take part in massacres and raids to prove themselves to this tribe?" The thought of killing innocents to prove skill was a repulsive one. 

Geralt gave her a knowing look, his eyes were hard. Blake took some small comfort in the fact this traveled witcher wasn't any happier about this tribe than she was. "Yes. I ran into one of their warriors in Skellige. He was tough, extremely tough. It wasn't the first time I've dealt with the tribe." Blake was glad that he was no longer living, especially since Geralt didn't have a reputation from running from fights. 

Blake looked at the tribesman corpse again, and raised an eyebrow. "Then should I be worried that this one was killed?" Geralt shook his head, and turned to keep walking. Blake fell in behind him.

"No. Though I am interested to see who killed the raiding party, since they travel in packs of 5 for initiation raids." Geralt turned right at the intersection of the town square, and Blake followed suit. She tried to ignore the bodies all around her, and the stench they gave off. 

They kept walking for a few more houses, picking their way through the scattered objects and villagers corpses. Clearwater had been a rather large settlement, with plenty of fertile land near the river from which the village derived its namesake. Blake just hoped those in the farther off homesteads were still alive, the thought of everyone in the village dying was a hard one. Blake's ears twitched, did she hear....humming? 

Gambol was out of its sheath again in a moment, and Geralt likewise re-drew his blade. "Do you hear that?" Blake whispered to him, and he nodded. Both witchers silently began to walk towards the noise, blades loose yet ready in their grips. 

The humming was coming from the patio of the inn, which was scratched and covered in blood. Its wooden walls had various holes in them, and a few ravens had taken up perches in them. A few squawked at Blake as she approached the corner of the inn, Geralt a pace to her left. She really hoped it was just a survivor of the attack, though if they were humming it meant they had likely suffered a psychotic break. Geralt had given Blake and the other apprentices a lecture on getting information from survivors of monster attacks, and he addressed this scenario. Axii was the easiest, and safest method to use. Geralt let his sword tip dip slightly, probably expecting something similar to Blake. They each exchanged a small glance, before rounding the corner and coming face to face with the hummer. 

He was a man that looked to be in his late 40s, with auburn hair, and a beard that matched. His blue eyes flicked lazily to them as he sat reclined against the inn wall, whistling. His green and blue robe was covered in an exotic pattern, with beads hanging from his neck and sleeves. Blake noted with surprise that his somewhat hairy chest was poking out from underneath. Blake had only met two types of people that didn't wear armor, fools and masterful fools. Either was dangerous, so Blake kept a wary distance, Gambol still in hand. Geralt let his blade drop even more, though he didn't sheath it.

The man waved at them both, and stopped humming, "Geralt! Good to see you again, you determined pest." Geralt gave a small smile and sheathed his blade. Blake leaned against the wall of the inn, and watched this newcomer warily. If Geralt trusted him, she probably should. However after seeing all the bodies, part of her wondered if he had contributed to the slaughter. Blake decided to withhold judgement.

"Olgierd, didn't expect to see you here. Where is the rest of your band of miscreants?" Geralt sat down next to the man, who proceeded to clasp him on the shoulder.

"Those wastrels? Off making merriment and debauchery in the next town, just in case they show up." He said, running a hand over the hilt of his ornate blade. Blake didn't recognize the craft style, though it appeared to be one of the most well crafted, if not the most well crafted blade she had ever seen. 

Geralt chuckled slightly, which surprised Blake. Geralt didn't seem the type to relax around such an obvious scoundrel, though Blake didn't know him that well. "Those poor villagers. Why didn't you join them?" Olgierd scratched his beard as he hunched over, and Blake saw his eyes go back somewhere far away.

"Remember our talk, on the moon?" Olgierd said slowly, and Geralt blinked once, before nodding his head slightly. 

"Yeah." Blake had no idea what they were talking about, but her ears raised slightly. She was always curious to know more. Perhaps thats why she had always found the countless tomes on various monster subspecies more interesting than her peers.

Olgierd glanced at Blake, a hint of mistrust in his eyes. "I decided to give back, any way I can." Blake met his gaze impassively, but his grip on his sword tightened regardless. 

Geralt glanced at Blake, before nodding once. She relented and sheathed Gambol, since Olgierd didn't seem like he was intent on fighting them. "Taking down the street brigands that you used to be a part of, not exactly the noblest of callings." Geralt said as Olgierd relaxed his grip on his sword.

He just laughed, "No, but a just one. I've been going after a bit of tougher game, so to speak. Speaking of tough, who is the master conversationalist you've brought with you?" Blake raised an eyebrow at the comment, but didn't move from her post at the wall. She would much rather be either figuring out if Yang had been here or which way she had gone, not wasting time with this ex-brigand.

Blake relented a little, "Blake. Novice witcher." Olgierd chuckled at the descriptor.

"Witchers don't stay novices for long, so I've heard. They either become experienced or die trying to be." Neither Geralt nor Blake corrected him, since he was right. It was a grim truth about their trade, but one that everyone faced. 

Geralt glanced at the road leading to the gate, "We're looking for another novice witcher, she would be riding with a few huntsmen. Probably bound or restrained, she had yellow hair, purple eyes." Olgierd leaned back against the inn wall and thought for a moment.

He slowly shook his head, and Blake's heart sank. The trail was started to grow colder, and they needed something to set them on a harder trail than conjecture and horse droppings. "I haven't seen her pass through here. However," he said, and Blake's ears stood straight at attention. "A few of my more vigilant vagrants said they spotted a bound witcher riding through Worten yesterday. No mention of yellow hair, though they were quite drunk at the time." 

"As any good brigand should be." Geralt said dryly, "Thanks Olgierd. Any chance you could keep an eye out for her?" Blake surveyed the road, somewhat satisfied to see the 4 other Tribe butchers dead, dispatched by Olgierd earlier. Most had cuts across their faces and chests, though one was missing both arms.

"I would, Geralt, truly. First I've got to finish my work here." Olgierd gestured to the bodies littered the streets, a frown on his face. 

Geralt glanced at Olgierd, "I didn't take you for one to oversee burial rights." Olgierd began to shake his head at the comment.

Blake decided to hazard a guess, if only to cut through the banter and get them back to searching for Yang. "You're hoping another party will be sent to find out what happened, and hope to kill them as well." 

Olgierd laughed again, and nodded. "Very observant, Blake. Not quite right, though. I know another party will be sent, and who will be in it. I've done this several times over, so The Tribe's hand is forced." Geralt raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. Blake had a feeling he knew more than what he was letting on, which was slightly frustrating. 

Blake was getting restless, Yang could be deemed useless and killed with each passing moment. She didn't have time for Geralt and Olgierd's banter. "I'll go get Roach and Adam, we need to keep moving." Geralt didn't argue, so Blake started walking.

Her ears twitched when she heard faint voices pick up again as she walked away from the inn. Geralt obviously knew Olgierd, so they were likely just catching up on something a bit more personal. As long as they finished catching up before she returned with the horses, since she wanted to hit the road, sooner rather than later. Her boot struck the mask of the unblooded as she passed, and Blake paused to pick it up. 

"What tribe murders innocents?" She murmured, running her hand over the mask, its cool surface slightly marred from the stone road it landed in. 

A loud thrum sounded behind Blake, and she drew Gambol while turning to face the noise. A red portal had appeared in the middle of the street, its murky crimson depths shifting and contorting in random patterns. Blake crouched low, ears flattening as she warily watched the portal. She wasn't sure if this was The Tribe's investigative party, but if it was it meant they had a mage. She didn't like fighting mages, since they could do all manner of unspeakable things to your body if far enough away and not distracted. 

A lone figure emerged from the portal, which promptly closed behind it. Blake appraised the newcomer quickly, a worm of worry entering her stomach as she did so. It was a woman, given the slightly skinner arms and legs, and lack of hair on the small part of the thighs that were exposed. Her red and black robe ended with a black skirt, leaving some of her thighs exposed before black stockings continued down to black leather boots. The woman's gantlets were red and layered back against one another, and a red belt hung at her waist, carrying a few pouches and some protective plating at her sides. She carried a massive sheath in her left hand, its black metal smooth and polished, and its hilt was a similar color, with small red stripes on the handle of the blade. The most prominent feature was the full-helmet similar to the unblooded's, stylized after a Grimm. Her hair was long and bound up behind her head, its jet black color matching her robe and boots.

She stared at Blake, who let the mask drop and took a neutral stance, Gambol pointed to her side and at the ground. "Who are you?" Blake asked, she wanted to stall for time while deciding on whether or not to attack. She wanted to avenge the village, but the woman held herself in an aloof and confidant manner. Blake knew it would be a tough fight, one she wasn't sure she would win. Her ears twitched nervously as the women took a step closer.

The woman didn't reply, and instead looked down at the corpse of the unblooded tribesman. Blake couldn't see any outward reaction to the death of a comrade, which meant either the woman had masterful control over her body, or she simply didn't care. Cautiously and deliberate, the woman drew her blade with a single, slow motion. Her blade was completely covered in dust infusions, and was longer than Gambol by at least 5 inches. "Did you do this?" Her voice was younger than Blake had expected, but it held a subtle fire that belied her true strength. 

Blake ran through her options as she prepared to respond. "No." Dancing star and Samum were probably her best bets on the bomb side. She needed to maintain Quen until the woman's fighting style became clear, which meant that Gambol would have to be her main offensive strategy. The buildings wouldn't help too much for anything other than a desperate retreat, Blake hoped it wouldn't come to that. The woman didn't appear to be naive enough to let herself be tripped up on one of the many corpses, and Blake would have to watch her footwork as they fought. 

The woman glanced back at Blake, her mask making her expression unreadable. "Shame. That might have made this interesting." She came in hard and fast, blade extended to her right as she ran. Blake's ears flattened and she took a lower stance, preparing herself mentally for combat against an unknown and presumably skilled foe.

Blake cast Quen as she did so, and the protective yellow barrier enveloped her within a second. The woman was fast, fast enough that Blake's witcher reflexes only gave her a slight edge in reaction, though it was negligible at best. Her first strike came in at Blake's stomach from the side, and she leapt to the right before slicing downwards with Gambol towards the woman's left shoulder. The woman brought her blade up to meet Blake's, before spinning it downward, forcing Gambol to move to the side. The woman thrust her blade forward at Blake's exposed stomach, and she rolled past the strike. 

Blake sprung to her feet as the woman sheathed her sword again, standing straighter as she started walking towards Blake. Doubt began to creep into Blake, this woman was skilled. If Geralt had trouble killing one of the tribe's warriors, with his experience and stronger mutations, Blake might not be able to fend one off. She had to fight smarter. She grabbed a grapeshot bomb and threw it at the woman, before grabbing a Tawny Owl potion and draining it in one drink. Her skin grew slightly yellow from the toxin, and her ears twitched several times as the toxins spread through her system. 

The woman moved fast, springing forward as she drew her sword. It glowed red and cleaved through the grapeshot bomb as she came at Blake, leaving it to shatter harmlessly, before fading back to normal steel. She spun and brought the massive sword down at Blake's collar-bone. Blake side-stepped the blow and made to come in at the woman's lower leg, hoping to reduce her speed. The woman moved fast, using her momentum from the failed spin to bring her sword around her body and slice horizontally at Blake's neck, and Blake managed to bring Gambol up in time to block the strike. 

The force of the blow sent Blake back a few steps, Gambol knocked to her side and leaving her open, which the woman exploited. She charged, slicing upwards towards Blake's shoulder, one hand on her sheath still. Blake cast Aard, which slammed into the woman. She gracefully leapt backwards with the force of the blow, sheathing her sword in mid-air before landing lightly on her feet in a crouch. Blake didn't give her any time to recover, rolling in close and springing out of the roll with Gambol slashing at her helmet. The woman drew her sword again in one smooth motion, the blade colliding with Gambol and sending Blake's arm backwards with the force of the blow, and a pristine ring filled the momentary silence as the blades met directly again. 

Blake knew she couldn't get Gambol back in time to deflect the woman's next strike, and wouldn't be able to dodge her strike this close, the woman was too fast. She kicked the woman in her knee, sending her staggering back slightly. Somehow she managed to avoid tripping over the bodies strewn about, and her stance lowered to a more balanced position. Her mask raised slightly, and Blake saw her grip on her sheath tighten slightly. Blake was moving regardless, and feinted right with a low slash. The woman used her sheath to block the blow, but Blake pulled Gambol back before she could. The woman was already swinging her blade downwards at Blake's neck, but Blake was expecting the strike. Blake cast Igni, and a swath of flames engulfed her magic barrier. The woman staggered backwards, the flames slowly flickering out against her barrier, and the woman remained coated in a scarlet barrier. Blake didn't hesitate, and threw a Samum bomb at the woman's feet, and it exploded in a flash of white as Blake averted her eyes for a second. She rushed in and swung as the woman swung at her chest, though she was a foot off. Blake ignored the blade strike and swung, Gambol slicing across the woman's robe at her upper chest, though a hard line of scarlet stopped the blade, and the silk fabric underneath didn't even move.

The barrier stopped the blow, and Blake barely felt it give to her strike. The woman's sword swung downwards, and glowed a bright red as it descended. Blake barely had time to leap backwards and raise a Quen shield before a torrent of flames enveloped it, the flames blocking everything from view as they battered the golden sphere. The shield drained her rapidly, and Blake felt her arms grow heavy as the torrent continued for a few painfully long seconds, only the Tawny owl giving her the strength to maintain it. Her blade returning to a normal color, the woman's blade slammed into Blake's shield and shattered it. The force of the blow sent Blake sprawling, and she tucked her head as she hit several of the corpses strewn across the street, rolling to gain her feet 10 meters away from the woman, who had sheathed her blade again. She didn't give Blake much time to recover, and leapt forward, using a wooden support beam for the blacksmith's house to launch herself at Blake's side. 

Blake turned and cast Aard, and the woman was thrown back into the pillar with a crash. Blake tried to press her advantage by throwing a dimeritium bomb before charging, hoping that she could drain the woman's barrier before engaging her again. The woman didn't even pause after landing from the crash, her sword clearing its sheath and slicing through the bomb casing in a smooth strike. Blake came in low with Gambol a second later, but the woman was ready once more. 

Her blade stopped Gambol, and Blake kicked upward toward's the Grimm mask with one leg, but the woman ducked under the blow and drove her shoulder into Blake's chest, sending her a step backwards. The woman used the newfound distance to her advantage, pressing Blake hard. Her strikes were quick, and strong. Blake ducked and weaved away from a few, but found herself forced to block most of the slashes with Gambol. Slowly she was giving ground, as the woman's blade expertly tested her defenses. The woman's blade moved like quicksilver, and didn't give Blake the time she needed to take a hand off Gambol and cast a sign, which she desperately needed to do. Without Quen, one well placed strike from the woman might end her. The woman feinted low and reversed direction to bring her sword up across Blake's upper chest, cutting through the armor and slicing her from the very lower neck to her shoulder. Warm blood trickled down Blake's armor, and she grimaced at the blow before attacking with Gambol, her ears flattening in pain at the strike. 

Blake swung Gambol at the woman's left arm, and when her blade moved to counter, drove her shoulder into the woman's chest. She staggered backwards a step, right over the body of an elderly farmer. In the second she took restoring her balance, Blake struck. Gambol scored a cut across her right arm, left thigh, and across her chest, the steel blade turning scarlet as it tried to pierce through the barrier that enveloped the woman. The woman's blade stabbed forward, and Blake side-stepped a fraction too slow, causing it to cut a light gash on her left side as it passed. She winced with the blow, and felt a jolt of pain pierce through the adrenaline.

She rolled away to see the scarlet barrier still a strong color, though it seemed to have been drained a decent amount as it faded away. The woman however was done with their duel, and advanced faster than before. Blake realized with shock that she had been holding back a little as her blade slammed into Gambol, and flared yellow. Lightning arced down Gambol, and Blake felt her arms go numb as the woman's blade moved to strike again at her left side. The woman used her blade to its full effect, striking all over Blake's guard with her dust-infused Blade. Blake held her defenses, barely. She started panting with the effort, as the woman's blade seemed to strike in three places at once, each with the force of a warhammer. 

The woman's blade turned bright white as she spun and brought down toward's Blake's head. She leapt backwards, but a blast of force similar to Aard slammed into her, sending her skidding back through the street, winded. Blake managed to keep her footing, though her chest ached from the blow and her sword was growing heavier as the Tawny Owl struggled to keep up with the rigorous demands of the fight. Even fighting the Bruxa hadn't been this fast paced and demanding. 

As Blake cast Quen, the woman swung her blade in an arc as it turned white with icy blue scars across the blade, and a crescent of ice raced across the ground. The ground turned to ice, and corpses froze solid as it passed over them. Blake didn't have time to dodge before it flew into her, shattering her Quen and pushing her along its path. Blake screamed in pain as the frozen ice froze her cuts and the blood gathering in them, sending icy lances of agony deep into her core. The ice burned her chest with ice fire as it continued on its path, slamming her into another house with enough force to crack the walls. Blake felt three of her ribs crack, and slumped against the wall in order to catch her breath. Ice crystals had formed along her front, and whatever bare skin had touched the ice crescent was pale blue, and almost to the point of requiring amputation. Her face felt frozen, and it hurt to move her mouth underneath the thin layer of frost that had gathered.

Blake sheathed Gambol slowly, her limbs moving sluggishly and clumsily as her limbs grew colder and number. The fight was over, but if Blake didn't get a swallow in her, she wouldn't live long enough to find out if the woman wanted to spare her. Her numb fingers brushed against the orange potion in her belt, and she almost screamed again as her frozen fingers touched the even colder bottle, which had been exposed to the ice crescent. Ignoring the searing agony, Blake managed to slowly bring the potion to her lips, noticing that the woman was slowly walking over to her, blade trailing at her side. She tried to breathe in before drinking, but her lungs screamed as they expanded, protesting the biting frost that was seeping into her body. 

Blake nearly lost her vision to the pain as the normally luke-warm swallow touched her throat, its icy chill spreading through her insides as she fell fully to her knees, and tried to stand. The pain made it hard to think, as her entire body felt frozen as the potion made its way through. Her eyes dilated slowly as the toxin sluggishly began to work, the chill having slowed its spread down considerably. Painstakingly slow relief began to spread as her body slowly began to lose its chill, and Blake gasped for air with lungs that no longer felt like frozen sacks of air. She collapsed with relief, before trying to rise.

A boot kicked her over as she reached a kneeling position, and Blake sprawled onto her back. The full face grimm mask stared impassively back at her, the woman's blade resting against her throat. Blake tried to cast Axii, hoping to convince the woman to leave her to "succumb" to her fatal wounds, but her fingers were too stiff to cast the sign, and it sputtered out before it had even drawn from her. The blade pressed every so slightly against her throat, and the cold steel caused a fresh wave of pain to spread against her slowly warming skin. The woman obviously wasn't fooled as she gazed down at Blake, before raising her sword a few feet.

The sword paused, "You were a skilled adversary, though outclassed." Her voice was calm, as if she wasn't about to end a fight to the death in the middle of a ransacked village. Her voice bore the slightest hint of respect, though Blake figured it didn't really matter. Dead was dead.

Out of the corner of her eye, Blake spotted two twin projectiles. Dully she registered Samum and Dimeritium as the different casing drew closer and crashed into the ground. The world went white as she heard the woman grunt in pain and surprise as the Dimeritium bomb drained her barrier rapidly. Blake tried to kick upward through the white haze filling her eyes as something grabbed her collar and heaved her to her feet. She felt something cold press into her throat hard enough to draw blood, and she stopped trying to struggle. 

"Come closer, and she dies." The smooth voice said from right beside Blake's head, and she tried to headbutt the woman, but the blade pressed tighter, and Blake relaxed. 

Her vision came in slowly, and the sight of Geralt and Olgierd in front of her faded into view. Both had their swords drawn, and stood ready to fight 30 meters away. Blake hated herself for being the weak link that was used against Geralt, especially when she saw the concern in his face as he met her eyes. She mouthed the word 'Quen', and twitched her fingers to him. As long as she could survive the sword being drawn across her neck, Geralt could attack. 

He slowly shook his head, and Blake remembered the dimeritium bomb had struck her too, and she was helpless for the next 10 minutes, which was an eternity in a hostage situation. "Let her go Raven." Geralt's voice was low, dangerous. Blake had only heard him talk like that once, and that was to the man who had called Ciri a whore in some random Nilfgaardian tavern. She was surprised he knew the warrior, was this the one he had faced in Skellige?

"Why would I do that, traitor?" Her voice went lower, and Blake felt her tense from behind her. Raven was pressed uncomfortably close, probably to make sure that Blake felt the force of any bombs Geralt might throw.

Geralt took a step forward, and Raven took a step back while pressing the sheath tighter against Blake's neck right below the bare blade. She took a gasp for breath. "I fought for The Tribe, helped you. Just let Blake go." Geralt said, his eyes staring deep into Raven's. Olgierd stepped up to Geralt's side and swung his blade experimentally in a few arcs. 

"I'm the one you want, Raven. You don't want to involve them any more than you already have." Olgierd removed one hand from behind his back, and threw a severed head towards Raven. Blake watched it spin end over end, the grimm mask still attached. "Your ambush team failed, though why you would attack a fledging witcher rather than the man killing your tribe members is beyond me." Raven tensed slightly at the words, before chuckling.

"I arrived to see her first. Besides, I wanted to savor killing you, immortal." Blake's ears twitched at the words, immortal? Did Olgierd have a secret? "Regardless, you," she addressed Geralt, who tightened his grip on his sword, "betrayed me and The Tribe when you sided with my dearest brother. The Tribe doesn't deal with traitors." 

Geralt didn't dispute that, and frowned slightly at the words, "What do you want, Raven?" Raven chuckled slightly at the words.

"The same thing I wanted when you joined The Tribe years ago. I think Blake here might provide the answers." Raven quickly brought her sword away from Blake's neck and downward. A red portal warped into existence at their right side. 

Raven leapt into it, still facing Geralt and Olgierd as they charge forward, swords raised. "Blake! Damnit..." Geralt said as Blake felt herself being yanked through the red portal, Raven's arm and sheath were still locked tight around her neck, dragging her into god knows where. Blake hated herself for getting taken, since it meant Yang would slip farther and farther away with each day, if Blake could even catch up after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Blake and Raven haven't ever fought before, so I kinda had to freeform it. Add onto that that Raven hasn't really "fought" before, and that I have to modify everyone's equipment and fighting style slightly to fit the times, and you have one big headache of a fight scene to write. Any tips here are very much welcome? Was it too long, too short, too bland, too descript? Advice and thoughts welcome!
> 
> This is my first real heart to heart between characters in my works, so I could use some tips with the Ruby X Yang scene as well. I'm hoping they didn't come off as cardboard, but if they did, any tips on how to fix it are appreciated. 
> 
> I love all you guys for reading, it makes me happy to share my tiny creative spark with a few other RWBY fans, god bless!


	6. Calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang finally meets the Headmaster, while Blake and Raven get down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a bitch to write. More on that at the bottom. Took alot of time mainly because of school and re-writes. I think I scrapped an entire section, so this might seem a bit short. Tips and feedback are always appreciated and loved, you guys rock!

___________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Patch, 5 days later...)

They stopped in Patch long enough to ask one of the local butchers for one of the sacks he used to blind-fold his pigs. Yang took the time to look around at her home...former home. There was little to indicate a dragon had attacked the village a decade earlier, the only signs were the stumps of trees that hadn't yet been uprooted by loggers who had ventured in after the attacks. The grass was just as green as Yang remembered it from her childhood. She had always picked strands up at recess to weave into little crude playthings. Grass warships and golems warred against Grimm and drowners in her little corner of the school field, their clunky arms and bending weapons had looked like real life arms and their blades as luminous and hard as Ember's polished steel to her childhood mind. 

A few kids kicked around at the grass, laughing and pushing each other. Yang smiled as the parents came into view, but couldn't help noticing the worry in their eyes, betraying their happy smiles. The sight of life-long friends and houses that had stood for generations burning in crimson flame, the ash so heavy that their lungs couldn't breathe in anything but soot and the screams so loud they couldn't even hear their thoughts must have scarred them. It wasn't surprising, Yang had heard stories of several Griffin School witchers suffering from life-long flashbacks after trying to kill an ancient dragon in Mistral, the ones who lived long enough to run away, at least. 

"I've got it." Ruby called to Weiss, who was standing near Yang's horse, sword clipped to her belt. The white hilt bore several different colored runes, and Yang wondered if she could activate the fire rune herself, it might heat up her cuffs enough to disrupt their magic cancelling abilities. It could also just blow up and remove her arms, leaving her to die of shock and blood loss. She reluctantly dismissed the idea, she had to think of something before they reached Beacon.

"Good, I'll go find the others." Weiss said, glancing back at Yang once with disdain before striding off towards the general store Jaune and the others had gone to for supplies. A few farmers stood around the entrance, murmuring to themselves. Yang tried to ignore the snickers and glances at the bound witcher thrown over the front of a young huntress's saddle, but found it was difficult to.

Jaune and the others emerged a few minutes later, several sacks of provisions in their arms. Nora threw one over Ruby's saddle, before kneeling in front of Yang, her purple eyes shining. "We're almost back to Beacon! That means you," she pressed a mailed finger onto Yang's nose. Yang tried to bite it, but missed. "are almost done with the saddle. You can tell Ironwood what he wants to know, and hopefully get off with only a few binding spells." Yang grimaced at the thought, binding spells were one of the many horrors a skilled mage could commit, the witcher trials being another.

"Alright team, lets go! We're almost there." Ruby said as she mounted her horse, scythe in her saddle and not over her back for the first time in days. While she were slowly relaxing, Yang's dread kept growing as the massive castle that was visible for miles around, its proud center spire granting its residence an unrestricted view of the surrounding area. 

Yang was thrown slightly forward as they started at a trot, rather than the customary canter Ruby had been pushing her team at for the past few days. Yang let herself hang limp as the horse continued down the stone road, and watched the trees that were passing them by. Every now and then a few riders would trot pass, and without fail each would stare and mutter to themselves as they looked at her. Yang was too tired and preoccupied to care, she needed to get escape, fast. 

Her best chance was to grab Ember, but it was on the other side of Ruby's saddlebag, right next to Ruby's scythe and Cellica. She could try to reach her belt, with various potions and bombs in its many pouches. A few dimeritium bombs and Yang could probably get to Ember before being cut down or having one of Weiss's spells find her. Her belt was still draped across Ruby's armor like a bandolier, and Yang couldn't reach it without getting a hand cut off in a process. 

She kept thinking, but couldn't find a way to escape. Yang began to seriously consider flinging herself off the horse in hopes of getting trampled, but her ties to Ruby's horse prevented it. She finally relented and tried not to think about what might happen to her at Beacon, even though a thousand gruesome scenarios entered her mind. In her decade or so on The Path, she had seen plenty of human corpses, decaying, dismembered, and disgusting. The worst ones by far had to have been the three she found in the sewers underneath the Temple Guard barracks in Novigrad, three "witches" who had been tortured. The severed tendons, broken bones, burn marks, and hollow eyes had haunted her for days after. Blake eventually got so fed up with her tossing and turning at Kaer Morhen she killed a nightwraith to get the money to pay a mage to fix the nightmares. 

Yang glanced at the streets of Vale as they passed her by. Stone buildings filled with various common goods from flowers to books filled the streets, and many different people walked among the stores. Chatter and laughter could be heard from all around as faunus and human mixed, bartering and ambling around in the cool Saturday morning. Conversation usually died down as the street would turn to stare at the bound witcher, and Yang sighed. She hadn't personally visited Vale, but Neo had brought back a few books from the city for Blake and Ryan some years ago. It had seemed like a nice enough city, which it was, if you were 

Beacon itself was a fortress, with a massive dark iron gate flanked by 4 city guardsmen. Their short swords and pikes gleamed, with green chain mail armor protecting their arms, chests, legs, and head. All 4 wore full facial helmets, and a green wheel was emblazoned on their armor, Yang remembered it from one of the mages at Kaer Morhen. On the ramparts above the gate, several guardmen patrolled with crossbows nudged in their arms, helmets scanning the surrounding city for trouble. Yang saw two huntsman standing on the rampart directly over the gate, one a woman with a massive longbow on her back, the other a elven man who held a halberd in one hand. Both nodding greeting to Ruby and her party as they approached the gates.

"Team RWBY, Team JNPR entering Beacon!" A guardsman called into the castle as the dark iron gate raised, and two more huntsmen stepped out to meet them.

The first held a spear to Yang's throat, the tip pressing slightly against her skin. Yang rolled her eyes in irritation, wasn't it clear she wasn't able to be a threat? The other nodded to Jaune and Pyrrha.

"Good to see more teams return from the siege. You're the 4th today, and the 10th this week. The headmaster wanted me to tell you to bring your captive freak up to his office." Yang felt Ruby tense in the saddle slightly, while Ren and Nora peered past Yang's shoulder into the courtyard, maybe looking for some of their comrades. 

Ruby flicked her horses reins and trotted past the two gatekeepers, not even acknowledging they'd spoken. "Vultures," she muttered, "trying to get into the new headmasters good graces already." Yang wasn't terribly surprised that huntsman had a few factions, it might give her something to exploit to escape. 

The castle courtyard wasn't extremely full, with 3 stable hands running over from the stable on the right hand side of the courtyard to take their horses. Each wore a basic tunic and shoes, with ill-kempt hair. On the left hand side of the courtyard a row of archery targets, practice dummies, and finally a sparring right sat. Yang watched as two sword wielding huntsmen sparred without armor, their bare chests gleaming with sweat in the morning sun as they traded blows. They moved faster than normal soldiers would, but significantly slower than a witcher. Yang was pleased to see their form, while refined, still had a few glaring holes that any swordsman taught by someone like Vesemir could exploit. 

Yang protested slightly when Ruby and Pyrrha grabbed her from the saddle and slipped a bag over her head. The dull brown fabric blocked her view, and she was lead forward for 100 paces, and then began to climb stairs. Ruby kept one hand firmly on her back as Pyrrha walked in front of her. A sense of finality came over Yang, whatever was going to happen, this was it.

"Where are we going?" Yang asked as they reached the level of their destination, Ruby pushing her from the stairs hard enough that Yang almost fell over. 

"The new headmaster's office." Ruby said, before Yang heard a door opening. By the sound it was old and wooden, though she wasn't certain.

"I didn't realize I had been replaced." A voice that was calm and composed, with a slight undertone of humor said, and Yang heard her sister's rapid intake of breath.

"Ozpin...?" Ruby said, and Yang heard a rushing of footsteps past her, and a slight burst of wind. "You're alive!"

"I would appear I..." Ozpin began, only to grunt slightly from something, and Yang heard Pyrrha stifle a chuckle. "..am. Please Ruby, I need to breathe. "

Ruby was almost hyperventilating at this point, "I thought you died at Kaer Morhen. I mean, I didn't actually see you die, but Weiss said she saw you die, and Weiss is usually right about these things. I thought you had been replaced, and I wasn't there to help you after all you did for me. I'm so happy you're alive, and I know this is really unprofessional and inappropriate behavior for a huntress but I don't care because YOU'RE ALIVE!" Yang heard her inhale deeply, but was cut off by something.

"I'm glad to see you're happy. I wanted to congratulate you and Ms. Nikos for your recent efforts, but that can wait for a moment." Something tapped against the floor, did Yang hear a...cane? "Please help our guest to her seat, and then leave us for now." Yang was forced into a soft chair that reclined slightly, top quality for a schoolmaster. 

It was Pyrrha this time who spoke up, "With all due respect headmaster, she's dangerous. Is it smart to be alone with her?" Yang didn't hear an answer, as instead her hood was yanked off. 

The man in front of her was of slightly above average height, and wore a black suit with a green scarf wrapped around his neck. A gear symbol was sewn onto the scarf, the same one that was present on the guardsmen at Beacon's gate. His hair was silver, with piercing brown eyes and a pair of small spectacles that didn't appear to serve much of a purpose except reduce the glare of the sun. His eyes at first seemed warm, but as Yang looked deeper she saw the apathy and cool indifference in them, and felt her spine tingle a little bit. Ozpin gave her a small half-smile. 

"I don't think I will be in any danger, will I Ms. Xiao Long?" He pushed his spectacles further up on his nose, and Yang blinked at him. How did he know her name? Ruby must have talked to him, confided with him at some point. The fact she had opened up to him about her issues and not her own sister stung, but Yang pushed it down. With what was likely an Elder Vampire in the room, she needed to focus entirely on staying alive. 

"I can't kill you, if that's what you mean. Just like everyone else at Kaer Morhen, save one." Ozpin nodded once to himself, before turning to face Ruby and Pyrrha.

"I shall have a short discussion with Ms. Xiao Long, in private." He glared at them both softly, and Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but Ozpin cut her off. "We can discuss my miraculous recovery later, along with many other things. Now shoo, Matilda is baking cookies." He smirked slightly as Ruby scowled but turned and left regardless, Pyrrha's bronze heels clacking behind her as she also left the room. 

The massive door slammed shut behind Yang, and she turned to Ozpin once more. He had returned to behind the massive oak desk in the center of the room. Its rich wood was covered in reports of various kinds, all in an unknown cipher that Yang couldn't read, though it did give her a read on Ozpin himself. It took a very paranoid man to have every document in his office coded, especially when surrounded by loyal guards and no apparent enemies, unless some of the huntsmen factions were working against him. A single mug of coffee stood at the end of his desk, still giving off a few wisps of smoke. Fresh coffee at mid-day, a vampiric workaholic. 

"Ms. Xiao Long." Ozpin said, his voice lacking all of the warmth it had with Ruby in the room. His eyes bore into hers, with no sympathy. "I have many questions, and very little time." 

Her first thought was that as an immortal, he had all the time, but comments like thata would get her killed. She opened her mouth to ask what kind of questions, but Ozpin cut her off. "I want to know where The Grandmaster kept the relic." Once again Yang opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but Ozpin began reading a report and held up a hand.

"Before you say anything, I am going to be very clear about the options before you. I could have gutted you the second Ruby left the room, and I haven't. You currently have value, strategic importance, a reason for me to let you live. You can do several things, with radically different outcomes. You could play coy and try and beat me in a game of verbal chess, a game I've played for a few thousand years. You will lose, and I will have you flayed and thrown into a vat of salt until you drown. You can remain silent, and I will call in a few specialists. They will break you down, piece by piece, until you give me what I want, then I will have your ribs extracted one by one and then fed to you." He paused, and looked straight into her eyes.

"Or, you can talk freely. Tell me what I want to know, save me weeks of time, and your own life. I take your medallion and give you a horse, 100 crowns, and set you lose to pursue whatever you want for the rest of your days." Yang didn't answer, so he sighed and picked up his coffee mug. "The choice is entirely yours, Ms. Xiao Long." 

She needed a little time to think, so Yang decided to stall for time, in the worst way possible. "Why'd you drop the nice vampire act? I just melt in polite immortals arms." She half expected to lose an eye or another appendage for the comment right there.

Ozpin took a sip of his coffee, and set the mug down. "It wasn't an act, Yang. I can be very nice to my friends, and those I value. I'd imagine that with different circumstances, I would like to befriend a girl such as yourself." Yang's face furrowed with disgust at the implication, and Ozpin noticed the look. He pinched his nose and sighed, "No, not like that at all. I simply admire your character, from the way your little sister spoke of you. A shame your life was wasted as a witcher. My "act" drops when dealing with threats, and those that oppose my goals." He tapped his finger against the hard desk. "I trust you won't be one of them."

Yang looked over the stack of papers for a moment, before turning to him. "So why attack The School of The Wolf? We were fellow monster hunters, not enemies, not soulless, and not an easy target. Why bring an massive force into a foreign country, risk a war, and kill another Higher Vampire surrounded by trained mutants, just to become a vampiric outcast and lose so many lives?" 

"Your Grandmaster was considering joining forces with the very thing he was fighting against. I couldn't risk an assault on Beacon. It was a difficult choice, and one I didn't make lightly. Dovak and I were friends, very close friends." Ozpin turned and stared out of the massive glass window behind the desk, its stained pattern resembled the ancient stone time keepers some cultures built in temples. 

"Witchers wouldn't assault a school, even a military one." Yang didn't believe The Grandmaster would even consider such a thing. Ozpin's informants must have botched his cipher, to believe witchers would assault a human stronghold. "And The Grandmaster would never join forces with monsters, he has...had, spent thousands of years fighting them." 

Ozpin turned and fished around in his desk, and brought out a small bag of fruit and nuts. He offered it to Yang, who cautiously accepted. "Witchers already have, The School of The Cat sent 10 witchers into Mistral's academy. They killed most of the sleeping students, and the headmaster himself." Yang's eyes widened in surprise. She had heard that a lot of Kingdoms were hunting the Cat School, be she didn't realize their infamy extended to complex assassinations. "Your Grandmaster wasn't dealing with monsters, per say, just rapidly arming and organizing extremist groups. Threats to the same order he started the school to protect." Ozpin said flatly.

"The Cat School always trained the madmen, and The Grandmaster wasn't above allowing the forgemasters to produce sub-par blades for any that were buying. Those aren't crimes worth going to war over." Yang said, starting to scowl slightly. All those dead, all the progress and potential on both sides was wasted over a few rusty swords? It was absurd. 

"Then what about stealing a very powerful magical relic from this academy? One that is key to the safety of Remnant as a whole? I grow tired of this, I don't have to justify myself to a emotionally compromised witcher. Will you tell me what I want to know, or will I have to take it from you?" Ozpin shuffled a few papers on his desk, and Yang considered attacking him. If she could take him by surprise and push him from the window, it might take decades for him to regenerate.

It wasn't feasible, and Ozpin was likely testing her. If she began to move, he would be at her throat faster than her fist could even touch his shoulder. "I don't know where the relic is. I haven't seen it, or been told about it. I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. So for now, why don't you grade some papers, be productive." Yang tried to brazen the situation out, though she didn't think it would work. Ozpin smiled and shook his head.

"You've seen it, whether you realize it or not. I can feel its effect on you, though it is faint. And you will tell me where it is, Ms. Xiao Long." He leaned in over the desk to stare into eyes again, "whether you want to or not. Ms. Fall?"

The door opened again, and three figures walked in. The one in the lead was a woman, probably in her early twenties. She wore a long red dress, with dust infusions laced into the fabric. The dress reached down almost to her heels, and cut off at her neck, with a black choker being visible at the neck. Her orange eyes appraised Yang, before turning towards Ozpin as she bowed. 

"You called, headmaster?" Her voice was self-assured, and seductive. She smiled at Ozpin, a familiar half smile of a confidant. Yang half wondered if there was something between her and Ozpin, since she seemed to be one of his most high ranking lieutenants. 

Ozpin rifled through a new stack of papers, and didn't glance up. Yang couldn't help but smirk at the thought of a higher vampire spending his afternoon grading papers and reading admission requests. "Cinder, take Ms. Xiao Long in for a few questions." 

Cinder raised an eyebrow as she rose to a standing position, "About?" Ozpin didn't look up, so Cinder turned to Yang and winked. Yang wanted to leap across the room and throw her out of a window, just so her smug look would disappear. 

"The relic." Ozpin looked up at Yang, and she could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of regret, "Try not to permanently maim until I've talked with Ruby." The smallest frown appeared on Cinder's face, before she nodded. 

"Take her to the usual spot." She said to her two minions, before walking over and bending over to whisper into Yang's ear, "We wouldn't want your screams disturbing the classes, would we?" Cinder faintly nibbled on Yang's ear before standing up. Yang tried to turn and glare at Cinder for such a disgusting display. 

A bag descended over her head before she could, and Yang could only make out the faintest bit of black fabric. Instincts took over as two sets of arms grabbed her by her arms and dragged over the chair. She tried to lash out at the two minions, but her dimeritium cuffs prevented her from getting any leverage, so she could only squirm as they dragged her out of the office. Yang tried to calm down, and brave it out, it would work out. As she was thrown over another horse in the courtyard, she stopped lying to herself. She had no idea what would happen, she was helpless, and she was scared.

 

_________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, location unknown, present time...) 

Blake felt her back hit dirt, with the starry night sky stretched out above her. Her entire body still felt like it had just been dunked in a freezing lake during an Atlas winter. Blake's whole being was screaming in protest from that ice blast, and it hurt to move. Blake tried to groggily roll over to get onto her knees, but a long blade came into view and pressed into the center of her chest. Blake stilled, and tried to glance back to see where Raven was, but she couldn't move.

"Stay still. I'm surprised you were able to stay conscious after that, most would have passed out or died." Raven said, pressing her blade harder against Blake's chest.

"What do you want?" Blake didn't feel like playing games with Raven. She needed to figure out where she was, so she could meet up with Geralt. A small part of her wondered what he was doing right now, but discarded that line of thought. She needed to focus on the here and now.

The tip of the blade disappeared, before a red gauntlet appeared in front of Blake's face as Raven stepped into view. She still wore her helmet, and Blake noticed in annoyance how her armor was spotless, how she was unable to even scratch her opponent with Gambol. Blake sighed and grabbed the outstretched hand, which proceeded to haul her to her feet.

Raven didn't move to help as Blake struggled to find her balance. "Blades." She sheathed her massive blade and walked over to a small table. Blake found her balance and took a moment to look around. 

They were in some type of stone room, seemingly carved into a cave somewhere. A table with two chairs and a simple meal sat on one side of the room, its rich oak wood glowing faintly from a small fire on the far side of the room. A single bed sat along the wall closest to her, its white sheets pulled up neatly. She was likely taken to whatever counted as a cell in Raven's tribe, though the lack of torture instruments was promising. Blake turned and walked over towards the table, sitting down with an effort. She tried and failed to hide a wince of pain as her body protested the action. 

"So why not ask a forgemaster, or a mine foreman for supplies?" Blake asked

"They don't know the location of Wolf School Diagrams." Raven said before removing her helmet. Blake found herself staring at a young face, no older than 30. Raven's red eyes met Blake's, cool and confident. She was used to being in control of situations, something that was hardly surprising. 

Blake thought for a moment. She would have to tread carefully here, witcher schools guarded their secrets religiously. Another part of her was against the idea of being used to further this murderer's agenda. "And you think I do?" Raven's eyes flashed a deeper shade red.

"Don't," Raven snarled, "play coy with me. I don't have time for it, and neither does your girlfriend." Confusion was Blake's first emotion, followed by a healthy dose of indignation. 

"I don't have a girlfriend." Blake said, and felt her veins go to ice. Raven was trying to leverage Yang's captivity as a bargaining chip, and she wanted nothing more than to end the conversation there. She couldn't, because Yang needed her and Raven knew it. "You seem to know an awful lot about The School of The Wolf."

"I have a vested interest." Blake snorted, The School of The Wolf had just barely died and already the carrion birds stirred. It made her sick, to know where she grew up was becoming nothing more than a salvage opportunity. 

"Want sharper swords to murder helpless innocents?" Raven's eyes narrowed at the statement, and her fist tightened slightly. "Did their rags offer stiff resistance?" 

Raven's hand slowly unclenched, "The weak die, the strong live. A truth your school learned the hard way." Bodies flashed through Blake's mind, eyes lifelessly staring back at her. Ryan, Paarth, Velim, Candice, and so many more. The pain was still fresh, and Blake wasn't sure she would be able to stomach another name on that list, especially Yang's.

"It isn't a truth, its a lie you use to butcher the innocents, hide your cowardice." Blake said, ears flattening slightly in anger. 

Raven moved fast, and caught Blake unprepared. Her gauntlet connected with Blake's lower jaw, and Blake moved with the blow as pain flashed through her face. "My Tribe is many things, Bezdušan, but we are not cowards. Unlike you, we simply don't hesitate to do what must be done." Blake's ears twitched slightly at the foreign word, though it was doubtlessly just another slur. 

"Bezdušan?" Blake asked, twitching her fingers underneath the table. The fire and the swallow were slowly thawing her out.

"Soulless." Raven said, deadpan. "An ancient name given to your kind's ancestors by mine, aptly so." Blake's jaw clenched at the "your kind", it brought back painful memories of the village kids and their insults at her family. 

The insult was of the same breed as so many others thrown at Blake over her years as a witcher. Geralt said the pain went away after a time, but for her it still felt as fresh as the first time. She still remembered her time as a kitten, and like every witcher she still felt pain and longing over the future she would never have. "I'd rather by soulless than have a soul that justifies the slaughter of innocent villagers."

Raven remained oddly calm, and Blake remembered Paarth's common saying: Calm card players have winning hands. The thought didn't bode well with her, and she forced herself to return Raven's bemused stare. "Why were they innocent then, if you're such a moralist?" Blake blinked, surprised at the question.

"They haven't done anything, they just wanted to live a prosperous, peaceful life." Blake said, and Raven simply raised an eyebrow at her. Her red eyes glimmered in the firelight, and Blake could've sworn they grew slightly redder.

"Innocent enough, true. However, is it innocent to send children deep into the forest at every full moon to be flayed and devoured by Salem's whores?" Raven leaned forward, and grimaced, her cool demeanor fading slightly. 

Blake suppressed the urge to wince at the imagery, far too many faunus for her liking were used as "street vendors" in the North. It was a shame nobody put contracts up for their handlers. "Salem's whores, charming as every other backwater brothel I'm sure." 

"They aren't prostitutes, they're a coven, commonly called The Crones. Sworn enemies of The Tribe, they practice black magic so foul even necromancers avoid them. They barter in flesh and souls, a limb buys luck for one, a child's corpse luck for a family, and a living child, with his flesh and soul they grant bountiful harvests and trade." Raven said, "They are inhuman, and so depraved only Salem would make use of them." 

Blake remembered the girl from Clearwater, and couldn't help but picture her walking deep into the forest, wolf tucked in hand as a final act of cruel kindness from her parents before she was butchered by a coven. She couldn't help but shudder at the thought. 

"Covens can be deadly, but an entire tribe of heavily armed warriors would be more than enough to wipe them out." Raven looked away, and stared into the fire. Her face grew somber as she remembered whatever horrors Blake had just brought to the surface.

"You would think that." She didn't elaborate, but Blake put two and two together. It must not have gone well. 

"Witcher blades. You want witcher forged silver to attack The Crones?" Blake said, realization dawning. Silver was a hard metal to work with for swords, usually coming out too soft or too weak to deal with anything bigger than a barn rat. Witcher smiths had found the techniques needed to let silver blades retain their steel brethren's finer qualities, and had jealously guarded the diagram's used to craft the new blades. The process was complex, and required absolute precision. A smith might be able to craft one with the diagram in front of him, along with a watchful witcher, but remembering everything to replicate the process was nigh impossible. Before the diagrams it had taken around 5 Wolf School smiths a week to forge one silver blade, maybe more if the design was complex. 

"Yes. Those diagrams in exchange for helping you find and free your "close friend"." Blake glared at Raven, but was relieved at the offer. She needed to find Yang, and despite her serious reservations about The Tribe's morality, it was unlikely they would share the diagrams. It was the lesser evil, and she was doing it for Yang. Blake just hoped it wouldn't get innocent blood on her hands.

Blake stared into the fire for a moment, its dancing embers a soothing distraction. The thought of Yang, her friend...best friend, dying broken and alone was too much. If she wanted to stand any chance at finding Yang and rescuing her in time she would need help, all she could get. "It will take around a week to reach Kaer Morhen, and another week to make it back to Clearwater, so meet me there.

Raven nodded, "I'll gather the tribe, we'll begin searching." Blake doubted Raven's tribe had enough people to search all of Vale, especially if the huntsmen took steps to hide Yang's location.

"How?" Blake asked, and Raven flashed a wolf's grin.

"I've captured plenty of huntsmen before, and somebody always knows something." Blake's ears twitched at the thought of torture, and she was about to protest. It died before she opened her mouth. She wasn't as naive as she was a decade ago, and sometimes it took horrible deeds to prevent even worse ones. Between Yang and one of the bastards that had killed her friends, there was no contest. 

"Find her, and I'll bring you more sword designs than you have warriors." Blake said, and stood up from the table.

Raven also stood, holding her full Grimm mask under one arm. "Do so, and I'll search for her as if she were my daughter." She grabbed her sword from where it rested against the table, and withdrew it from the sheath. 

It's blade was still covered in dormant dust infusions, and it glowed a faint red as Raven slashed the blade downwards at the floor. A loud thrum sounded behind Blake, and her ears stood straighter at the unexpected noise. Raven slid her blade back into its sheath, before holding out a hand, the gauntlet shimmering slightly in the small amount of light the dying fire provided. 

"I figured it would be easier this way. Good luck, Bezdušan." Her voice still had a significant chill to it, but Blake was surprised at the gesture, and took Raven's hand. "Mutual self interest, nothing more." She said, as if reading Blake's thoughts. 

Blake nodded, and stepped backwards into the portal. The sense of vertigo and disorientation wasn't as bad since she knew what to expect. However, the portal did still dump her onto her back. Gambol and Shroud clanking against the rock she landed on, and a point drove into the small of her back. Blake rolled to her feet with irritation, rubbing the spot with one hand as she looked around. 

"I'm beginning to hate portals." She muttered as she looked at the empty space once occupied by the crimson oval, now nothing more than another patch of forest air. 

"Give it 100 more years." An instantly recognizable voice said from behind her. "They only get worse." 

Blake turned and gave a tired smile to Geralt, who was sitting in front of a small campfire. Two bowls of soup at on the log next to him, both fresh and steaming. He motioned for her to sit, and Blake did so. She was famished, and the soup was a perfect cure. Geralt must have used the last of their rations, she tasted beef, carrot, and a few local herbs in the broth. She wasn't sure if anything had tasted as good as this did, at least to a body that had nearly been frozen less than an hour ago. 

"Good?" Blake nodded to Geralt, too busy chewing to answer, "Saw you get put on ice, figured something warm would help once Raven spat you out again." 

Blake swallowed and made a conscious effort to not take another mouthful before speaking, "This happens often?" 

Geralt smiled into the fire and shook his head, "Whenever I encountered Raven or needed to meet with her, it would be through a portal. Half the time I'd get dumped miles away from Roach, and half to spend the next few days hunting the damn horse down. One time I was dumped into a nest of nekkers, which wasn't fun. I think it was because she was mad I wouldn't let her use my diagrams." Blake winced at the prospect, if nekkers managed to knock you off your feet in their nest, you wouldn't get up again.

"So," Geralt continued as Blake kept eating, "How'd it go? What did she want?" 

Blake took a long time finishing her latest mouthful, but Geralt was expecting an answer, "About that..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, since hopefully you've read the above, I'm unsure how to proceed. I don't mean story wise, I mean writing wise (I guess?). Maybe both, I don't know. As this chapter made obvious, Cinder is going to feed Yang through the meat grinder, so to speak. My dilema is how fucked up I make it and what I show, since I've been doing alot of thinking/reading on this for a while. Yang has to be tortured, I'm just not entirely sure how, since I could go alot of different routes. Physical torture, Psychological torture, mixture, depraced, not shown, short, long, I don't know. 
> 
> General rule of thumb for the writing aspect I've gathered is if you aren't disgusting yourself, you aren't doing torture right. Not sure if I should show or imply or go really messed up, since this is a huge part of the Bumbleby arc in this story that I'm sloppily building up to. I guess I'm rambling because I could go both ways, and I really want to know how you guys think it should proceed, more show everything or leave it to the imagination? I guess I don't want to turn people off to the story, but at the same time I have a story that I want to tell, and I don't know how to balance that, newbie writer and all. 
> 
> I'm at a bit of a loss and I really don't want to fuck this up, any thoughts at this point are appreciated. I love you all and I hope you can bear with my semi-nervous breakdown on how to effectively torture one of my favorite characters. I figure that all of you might have read some other works/ have other insights that can help. Love you all, Cheers.


	7. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang is pushed to the limit, and Cinder is just getting warmed up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoy it. This will either be super emotional or super corny and stupid. Either way, feedback welcome! I hope you enjoy it, or at least are moved by it, enjoyment might not be the right word.

_________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, location unknown, Day 1)

Her hands hurt from the dimeritium cuffs that kept her arms chained behind the chair, and she wasn't able to move them to help her circulation. Yang's eyes kept scanning back and forth, but the brown fabric in front of her nose was unyielding, and offered nothing but the faintest impression of a light above her head. Yang craned her neck higher to see if it would offer her a greater view into her cell, squinting to see better.

Yang doubled over in pain as a foot slammed into her chest, causing her chair to topple over as she gasped for air, her stomach struggling to breathe in. Her stomach heaved and she fought down the urge to retch. It was a very powerful kick, delivered with a metal boot. The worst part was that her chest was completely relaxed, she had no way of preparing for the blow. Another boot stuck her shoulder, and Yang rocked against the chair with the impact, gritting her teeth rather than cry out. 

"You can make this easier on yourself." Cinder's silky voice cooed from close by, and Yang kicked out in that direction. Her foot passed through nothing but air, and a fist connected with her cheek, hard. Yang felt her head slam into the stone floor, and her head swam for a few moments. 

She probed her teeth with her tongue experimentally, and found no gaps...yet. "As if this is a challenge." She couldn't see Cinder's face, and the lack of knowing what was going on around her made it impossible for her to prepare or adapt to the situation. 

"Mercury." Cinder snapped, and Yang could hear an arm lowering. "You're right. This isn't the challenge. This is simply Mercury warming up, before we start the real interrogation." Yang's chair was grabbed and hauled upright, her body assisted by another set of hands. She didn't imagine Cinder as being the manual labor type, which meant goon 2 was present for this interrogation as well. 

"So, Yang, before we begin I'm going to give you a choice. Tell me where the relic is, and you get off lightly." Cinder traced a finger over Yang's cheek through the bag, and she tried to bite it. The cuffs slammed tight and stopped her short. "Resist, and we get to have a lot of fun breaking down every little piece of who you are, and crushing it."

"Please resist, school can be so boring." An arrogant man's voice said behind her, Yang couldn't tell which one of Cinder's goons it belonged to. 

To Yang it wasn't much of a question, since she didn't even know what their 'relic' looked like. The thought of Cinder's smug strut back to Ozpin to report her success was one Yang couldn't stomach, so she shook her head and smiled. Besides, she was committed. Yang didn't believe for a second that Cinder would let her live after she got what she wanted, and would have no reason to keep Yang alive. From the way Ruby treated her, she wouldn't intervene in her own sister's execution. It was a sobering thought, and one Yang tried not to dwell on. She had to outlast them, last long enough for Blake to find her. Blake would find her, Yang knew. Her friend was too determined to fail, she just had last long enough for her to find Yang. 

"I've killed downers scarier than you three. What makes you think that I'm going to give up your big bad relic because you asked nicely?" Yang said, and nobody replied. 

Two pairs of hands yanked her out of the chair, causing her shoulders to scream in protest as Mercury and the other goon slammed her onto a slanted board, with her head being at the lowest point. The hood was still on, and Yang could barely make out a slightly darker section above her head. Cinder's goons cut the rope holding the two dimeritium cuffs together, and Yang felt her arms being slammed onto the board and fastened down with very, very tight metal clamps. Her legs soon followed suit, and Yang was barely able to move in any direction. 

"Cover her. I'll grab the bucket." A new female voice said to Yang's right, all businesslike. Yang tried to find a way to use this information, but could find none. 

Her vision went from barely seeing to seeing nothing as more cloth was placed over her head, and a strap was secured against her forehead. Yang tried to focus on anything else, rather than let her brain build anticipation for whatever potential horrors came next. Her first thought was of the last day she had seen Ruby in Patch, before Ferial had arrived. A sad smile touched her lips as she remembered carving little stickmen into a tree with the knife she had stolen from Dad's kitchen, how Ruby had begged to try it. Yang didn't let her, and laughed as Ruby half heartedly tried to tackle her for the knife. Without warning, she saw the trophy knife she threw embed itself into her sister's shoulder, and the look of pain on her sister's face. Yang curled her hands up and slammed them against the board to clear her head. 

Cinder rubbed her hand before curling her hand around Yang's. "Now now," she cooed, "don't you worry. We'll start soon, just be patient." The female goon snickered at that comment. 

Yang felt it at first, a slow trickle of moisture as water was poured onto her head, seeping into the cloth. Confusion was quickly replaced by unease as the water began to slowly trickle through her mask and into her nose, and Yang quickly held her breath. Witchers could hold their breath longer than humans, and she was dearly hoping her captors didn't know that.

A finger pressed against her neck, it was warm and unexpected, and Yang tensed. "She hasn't breathed in yet, keep it up. Slowly." Mercury said to his female compatriot, who didn't reply. 

It was getting harder and harder to stay still and focused as more water seeped into her nose and her oxygen supply was getting low. She felt like she was being suffocated, the cloth pressing harder and harder against her face as the smothering effect worsened. In the end, Yang's body betrayed her, as she instinctively tried to suck in for air. Water went in, and Yang lost all control. She was breathing water, no, she was drowning, and she needed to get above water. Her arms and legs started to thrash against their restraints as more and more panic began to build in her chest as water slowly filled her lungs. She was drowning, and she had to stop it.

Any rational thought was out of the window, her mind had gone into complete survival mode as she desperately tried to gasp for air, but none came. The cloth and the water pressed in tighter around her face, and no air would come. Yang thrashed some more as the water kept coming and her entire body filled with panic as it became hard to form any type of cohesive thought. Air, she needed air, she had to get air, that was all that mattered now. Water kept washing over her face as Cinder's goon kept pouring, and Yang kept thrashing. Her mind was barely connected to her body, as it moved with such primal fear that she couldn't even hope to control it. All she could think of was stop the torture, stop the drowning, she was going to die, she was drowning, she would die.

Her chest felt like it was being compressed by a boulder, and she tried snorting out the water that filled her nose, but failed. Yang gasped for air and began coughing, but it only made the situation worse as water filled her mouth as she coughed, and she began choking. Desperately she tried to claw at one of her torturer's legs, pleading and screaming for the unbearable drowning to stop as her lungs filled with water and her eyes began unfocusing and she was unable to hear the water being poured anymore. Some small, barely functioning part of her mind registered that water was now pouring out of her mouth as her head went limp, dripping water from her nose and mouth as her chest weakly convulsed in coughing attempts to try and clear her waterlogged lungs and throat. Yang couldn't even tell if she was still able to see as the blackness remained as smothering and unyielding as when it started, but she faintly heard murmuring. Panic settled in as she realized she was going to die, she was truly drowning. 

They pulled her back, the cloth and bag both being removed at once with an ungentle yank that Yang barely registered, her head lolling to the side as water dripped from her full mouth, trickling down to the floor as her body convulsed in one final attempt to save her. Even without the bag, she could only see the faintest shapes and lights as the world flashed by in a mess of color. Something dragged her upright, and slammed into her back. Yang spasmed slightly, coughing up a vile mixture of green liquid onto the floor near Mercury, who wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

"She threw up already?" Yang felt another rush of panic and fear run through her as she realized she had almost drowned in her vomit. Her chest tightened at the memory of the suffocation, the water drowning her. "The last witcher made three sessions before throwing up."

Her whole body felt weak, unresponsive, as if it wasn't even hers. Another bout of coughing, and Yang managed to shudder in horror as her mind began remembering what it had just experienced. The visceral fear, primal urge to do anything, and being so helpless as she slowly drowned. It was horrible, and it was made even worse by the small, semi-functioning part of her brain that told her they wouldn't have opened with their worse technique. 

Mercury and his friend let her drop to the floor, where she landed hard before coughing up more water and struggling to take a deep breath. Instead she vomited again as she tried to push herself up off the floor, before failing and falling into her own vomit. A boot kicked her side, and Yang retched up more water as she rolled over. Her vision came in slowly as she tried to breath and barely managed to not throw up again. Yang's vision came in slowly, with various swirling colors slowly morphing into the mockingly cheerful face of Cinder, who stood over her. 

"Did you enjoy your bath?" Yang tried to punch her, but could barely lift her own arm. She hated being so helpless, especially since her iron shackles had been removed. The dimeritium cuffs were still fastened around each wrist, unfortunately. "Ready to talk?"

"Please say no, I love watching witchers have panic attacks." Mercury sneered as he nudged Yang's non-vomit covered shoulder with his metal boot. "They can last so much longer, makes it more fun to watch." 

"Shut up, you're not helping." His female friend elbowed him, and Cinder glared at both.

Yang kept panting, relishing the breaths she could get, not caring that they were slightly tainted by her vomit flavored throat. "I've got all. day." she panted, "besides, you. aren't very. good. conversation." Cinder simply smiled before standing and walking to her seat in front of the board. 

"You should be proud." She called over her shoulder as Yang barely managed to track her walk. Her head and heart were both pounding, and her entire body felt as if it had just gone through hours of exercise. "You lasted about two minutes before almost passing out. The record is three, and I think you can beat it. We've got hours to try." Cinder chuckled as Yang's eyes widened in horror. Two minutes? That hell couldn't have taken place in the span of two minutes, it had felt like hours, if not days. The thought of going through that again was a bleak one, and Yang thought back to Blake. She had to stay strong, Blake was coming. 

It might take days though, and Yang wasn't sure she could survive that for days, let alone hours. "I could. always use. some. hydration." Yang panted, and Cinder's eyes hardened slightly at the comment. Yang had to keep her head, something that was nearly impossible when she was drowning, but she had to. For Blake, she had to survive and stay strong, stronger than she had ever needed to be. 

"See that she gets it. 3 hours of intense waterboarding, minor breaks only. I want her barely able to think when I get back." Cinder turned and walked towards the door as Yang's insides turned to ice. Three hours of intense waterboarding, when she barely got through two? 

Mercury and his friend grabbed Yang's arms, and she thrashed weakly against them, trying to break free, but it was useless. Panic settled in as Yang was slammed down on the damp board, and her head was strapped into place, and the female goon brought the cloth over Yang's head again. Fear settled in, and Yang desperately tried to prepare, to ready herself. She could do this, she would have to endure this, she wouldn't let them break her. Not this easy, not this fast. 

Yang tried to remain calm, and let her thoughts drift to Blake. They had met up in Atlas a few months before Kaer Morhen's sack, both hunting a rogue golem summoner's latest abomination. The innkeeper at the only inn willing to take witchers only had one room left, and only one bed. Yang still remembered waking up in the middle of the night to Blake's warm body pressed against hers, a welcome addition given the chill of the Atlesian winter. She smiled at the thought, and a bit of warmth and comfort filled her body, before Mercury began pouring again. Yang felt it all disappear as the unrelenting and unfathomable panic set in, and her hell began anew. 

_________________________  
(Ruby Rose, Beacon, Present time.)

Ruby hummed to herself as she flipped another page in the textbook she was studying for Professor Port's class. She wasn't a fan of the added curriculum for some of the since undiscovered monster species that were pushing into Vale. Just a week before the siege, Team RWBY had lost Blade to a massive griffin subspecies, and Yamacha died last year in one of Olgierd and Branwen's bandit clashes. Perhaps if they had been studying combat techniques instead of Port's dusty old books they would still be alive. 

A voice interrupted her thoughts, "Ruby, do you mind if I come in?" and she quickly leapt over the various old food boxes, books, and other pieces of clutter neither Weiss nor herself had found time to clean up.

The door opened to reveal her headmaster, Ozpin. "May I come in?" Ruby realized with a start that her mouth was hanging open, and quickly shut it. Ozpin was visiting her? Absurd, but here he was. 

"Of course." Ruby opened the door, and stepped aside. She winced internally at the sound of her boot crushing an old training arrow shaft on the floor. "Watch the clutter."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow as he stepped into RWBY's dorm room, lifting his cane up to avoid the mess on the floor. "I'll be careful." He followed Ruby as she went to sit back down at her makeshift desk, but fortunately didn't comment on the fact that only one bed was being used rather than two. 

"So what do you need Headmaster?" Ruby turned and leaned against her desk, trying to ground herself. She always got nervous talking to Ozpin, she always felt like a complete idiot next to his cool self-confidence. 

Ozpin however, exhibited none of those traits as his brown eyes dropped to the floor. He sighed and pinched his nose near his forehead. "Ruby, I realize this past month hasn't been easy."

Ruby breathed in slowly, and bit down on the cascade of emotions surging within her. Ozpin wouldn't have minded, but she needed to be grounded for herself, now more than ever. Not easy? That was an understatement if Ruby ever heard one, and she wasn't a stranger to Weiss's gross oversimplifications. Two of her best friends had died, she had gone into a full blown siege with half a team, and witnessed enough death and destruction to haunt her nightmares for decades, and then her sister showed up. Just when she was trying to recover, piece it all together and cope, Yang shows up as a mutated killer that was hellbent on killing her friends. After that ordeal, she now has to lie awake and debate on how she should feel about knowing her witcher 'sister' is being tortured close by. She was surprised she hadn't broken, yet. 

"Yeah." She whispered, and looked down at her hands. They were so clean and white, for all the blood on them. The blood of monsters and bandits, she reminded herself. It helped to always remember that, huntsmen were the good guys. After Kaer Morhen, she wasn't as sure. 

Ozpin's hand lightly grabbed her chin, and she looked up into his eyes. They were deep and held a steady determination that Ruby couldn't help but admire. Even when Mistral's headmaster was just assassinated, he had been the voice of calm reassurance at Beacon. It was something Ruby desperately needed right now, and likely why he had stopped by. 

"I know you have been under an extreme amount of pressure, and I've waved classes for all students for a month. You need time to recover, we all do." He gave her a small half smile, and Ruby almost melted into his arms with relief. No school to stress over was a godsend, she could just sit and think, try and figure out what she was going to do with herself. 

"Thank you headmaster." Ruby said, before losing all control and leaning in to hug the man who had practically raised her at Beacon. He paused for a moment, before chuckling and patting her shoulder. "For everything."

"I appreciate the thought, but I do have other appointments to get to." He said, and Ruby let him go, sitting down on her bed as Ozpin walked over her trash covered floor with ease. He briefly inspected the tiny stove connected to the room's fireplace, a device Blade had brought with her to Beacon. He ran a finger over a few dirty soot stains, and Ruby blushed behind him. Weiss had tried to teach her how to cook, until JNPR and NCKL had to leave the building or choke on the smog clogging up their entire floor. 

Ozpin turned and smiled at her, "Weiss said this usually helps whenever you are feeling down. Take care of yourself Ruby, the stress of combat on a trainee huntress is never to be underestimated." He set a hand on her shoulder, "you always have people to turn to." These days, Ruby wasn't sure who she could turn to, but she appreciated the sentiment regardless. 

Ruby walked over to the stove to see the packet Ozpin had set on it. It was a plain bag with a green bow on top, about the size of a textbook, which wasn't surprising since it was Ozpin. Ruby heard another pair of footsteps enter the room, and turned. Her eyes lit up when she saw Weiss standing there, as regal as ever. Her mail armor wasn't dirty and dented anymore, but shown with a subtle lethality common to ATLAS commandos and huntsmen. 

"Speaking of people to turn to, I think I shall leave you for now. Ms. Schnee." Ozpin nodded once to Weiss, who gave a small military bow before stepping aside to let the headmaster pass. 

Weiss waited a moment before shutting the door, and sliding its bolt into place. Ruby raised an eyebrow at the action, did she not want Ozpin in the room? Ruby turned and tore open Ozpin's gift, and gasped in delight when she saw cookie dough.

"I told him you would like it." Weiss whispered as she moved behind Ruby and gently began massaging her shoulders. "You've been so wound up about everything, you need to take a moment to relax." Ruby gave a small sigh of content as Weiss began kneading her shoulders. When was the last time they had been able to unwind a bit? It had to have been months since she had given Weiss a massage.

"Weiss..." Ruby began, but Weiss cut her off by pressing a finger to her lips after spinning Ruby around to face her.

"You always focus on me, on others. For once let yourself be the center of attention you dolt." Weiss gave her an exasperated look, and Ruby relented. She nuzzled against Weiss cheek before turning and grabbing Ozpin's gift. "After all this, you need to take a minute to just breath."

It tasted wonderful, and Ruby closed her eyes for a second as she savored the taste. Cookies always reminded her of home, of mom. Weiss smirked and nudged her shoulder, "Enjoy it?" She asked

Ruby nodded, "It's great, thank you. Want a taste?" She gestured towards the half finished cookie dough packet on the stove. Weiss nodded, her eyes hungry and determined. Had she missed lunch?

What happened next was a surprise. Weiss suddenly leaned in and caught Ruby off guard as their lips met and Ruby tried to gasp in surprise. Instead she ended up letting out something that sounded like a moan as Weiss pushed them both back onto Ruby's bed. Ruby's eyes widened as her heart started beating faster, Weiss hadn't ever been so forward before. Ruby didn't mind, especially when Weiss's tongue grew bolder and pushed into her mouth. She could hear Weiss's heart beating just as fast as her's was, and Weiss body was warm and comforting as it lay ontop of hers. They both pulled each other close, slowly at first as they kissed. It had been a while, and each wanted to savor the moment. 

Reluctantly Ruby let Weiss pull back an inch. Ruby was panting, and her heart was in her throat. Weiss had never been that...passionate, before. "Mmm." Weiss licked her lips, "That tasted great, I might want seconds."

"I'd..." Ruby panted, "I...don't see anything wrong with that..." Weiss smiled and her eyes sparkled with a mirth that Ruby hadn't seen in months. After Blade died she had grown distant, removed. What had changed?

As Weiss's arms wrapped around Ruby's neck and drew her in for another kiss, Ruby realized she didn't care. The girl she had fallen in love all those months ago with was finally showing herself. Ruby focused on the kiss and the girl on top of her. She didn't mind when clothes slowly began to hit the floor, it could handle one more small mess. Besides, keeping things clean was the last thing on Ruby's mind as Weiss body entangled with hers. Especially when Weiss decided she had had enough of just kissing.

As Ruby lay half asleep in Weiss's warm embrace after, she could have sworn she heard the huntress in training say, "I don't want to risk losing you again." 

_____________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, location unknown, 3 hours later..., Day 1)

Yang could barely focus as they slammed her back into the chair in the middle of the room. Her eyes had trouble focusing, and she couldn't taste anything but well water in her mouth. Her entire upper body was drenched in water and vomit. Yang's heart couldn't seem to slow back down to normal yet, and one leg was twitching slightly. She needed to calm down, refocus. It was obvious Cinder wanted her confused, disoriented, and too panicked to think clearly. 

Yang took a deep breath and tried to slip into one of the lighter meditative trances taught at Kaer Morhen. Hopefully this time it would work, unlike when she was being waterboarded. Yang needed to have a breathing pattern to meditate, and as soon as she breathed in water the panic took over. It had been worse every time Mercury had put her under, since her body remembered the terror of each previous time, and only made the next time worse through anticipation. She had lost consciousness a few times, the only rest afforded to her. She couldn't stop the terror, the panic. It was beyond rational thought, a primal instinct that refused to be stopped, and it made her life hell. 

"How have you enjoyed your time with Mercury?" A familiar voice asked, and Cinder's self-assured face came into focus as Yang opened one eye and breathed in. 

She didn't answer, no reason to give Cinder a good read on her condition, which if Yang stopped lying, was a lot worse than she would have liked for day 1. Cinder didn't appear concerned at her silence, and began inspecting a single nail as the second goon, a darker skinned woman with green hair and red eyes folded her arms behind Cinder's chair. 

Cinder nodded once to Mercury, who drove a fist into Yang's cheek. She leaned with the blow, expecting it. It did help some, but chained to a chair there was only so much Yang could do, and a small bruise formed. "You can stay silent if you want, but it won't make things easier for you. But you know that don't you, sunny dragon?" Yang's eyes opened in surprise at hearing that name, even after all these years away from Patch she still remembered her father's pet name for her. 

"Where did you hear that name?" She said, leaning in as far as her chains would let her. Female goon moved up to Cinder's side, ready to step in if Yang broke free.

Cinder chuckled and met Yang's eyes for the first time. All Yang could see in Cinder's was the infinite pleasure in twisting a screw into Yang from a new angle. It made Yang's spine crawl to thing that she took pleasure from these depraved games. A colder chill went up her spine when Yang thought of how long she had to play her games, time wasn't on Yang's side. 

"I stopped by a quaint little farm in Patch, one Ruby mentioned in our weapon's class. A very polite farmer lives there, and he was more than happy to tell us about the little girl he lost." Yang's blood turned to magma at the thought of them visiting her childhood home, speaking with her dad. It was almost as bad as if they had walked into Kaer Morhen to talk with Vesemir about sword techniques. "What a poor man, I'd hate to see his life get any harder." Cinder's eyes narrowed in implied threat, and Yang bristled slightly. 

"I'd imagine we'd learn alot if we brought him to us next time." Cinder said as she rose to her feet, and Yang's blood went cold. They wouldn't torture her dad in front of her, would they? 

"Don't you dare hurt him you bitch." Yang spat onto Cinder's dress, a vile mixture of blood and vomit, but she didn't react. Nothing ever seem to perturb her cool demeanor. It was weakness, but Yang figured that Ozpin wouldn't let an innocent farmer get too badly hurt. If they had to go hunting for Blake or Neo on the other hand, Yang wasn't sure she would be able to handle it. 

"Its not my choice." Cinder gently cupped Yang's chin into her hand and planted a kiss on her forehead, a sadistic mockery of compassion. "It's entirely up to you. Think about it while you get acquainted with Emerald." She smiled before turning to leave, her heels clacking loudly on the stone floor.

The green haired woman stepped forward and inspected Yang. "Don't take to long, I was just starting to enjoy myself." Mercury said as he followed Cinder out of the room.

"Barbarian. We're here for information, not fun." Emerald said as he left, before turning back to Yang. "Alright, let's get started."

Yang looked at Emerald's belt, where two oddly shaped knife like weapons hung. If they were torture devices, they weren't like anything Yang had ever seen, which just made the anticipation worse. "So what, he does kicks, you do knives?" Emerald snorted.

"You're going to be wishing for kicks and knives when I'm done. So let's get started." Emerald stepped forward and touched a hand to Yang's forehead. Just before her hand connected, Yang couldn't help but remember the Trial of the Dreams. Was Emerald a mage?

Yang could only describe what happened next as agony, her skull felt like it was about to explode as something burrowed, no, clawed its way into her mind. Emerald smiled as Yang felt the agony get even worse, and she involuntarily gasped in pain. It felt like a dozen different barbed knives were being inserted and then removed from her mind all at once. She tried to resist, push back against the sensation, but Yang couldn't tell if it was working.

"I am going to get in, so just let me inside." Emerald growled in frustration as her hand tightened, and the attack on Yang's mind worsened. Yang felt her medallion go into a humming and shaking frenzy as her body gave out and collapsed from the strain of this unknown attack. 

The pain got worse, it felt like a golem had her skull in both hands and was twisting it apart. Yang's eyes lost the ability to blink as more and more of her body became unresponsive. Her eyes began to trickle blood from the strain, and she felt herself giving ground. Yang had never felt so helpless, so alone. With waterboarding, at least she had a sense of body, of some physical self. Emerald was doing something to her mind, trying to get inside. Yang couldn't fight her, she didn't know how, and her body was slowly being torn out of her own mind's grasp. She could no longer feel her arms and her right leg, and pain lanced through her left leg as the assault continued, slowly tearing it away as Emerald sought entry. 

Yang tried to speak, to cry out, to do anything, but Emerald's attack focused, and went from a tidal wave of pain slamming into her entire being to a focused point, a lance of pure agony that connected with her mind and twisted. Yang's screams could probably have been heard several rooms over, but Emerald only focused more, determined to finish her task. 

"Got it." Emerald said as Yang felt whatever natural barrier she had around her mind break, and suddenly she was nowhere. 

Yang was in a forest, with Bumblebee behind her. Her horse's light brown coat had caught a lot of brambles, and Yang frowned slightly. She would have to clean those, but something else felt...off. She cautiously reached over her shoulder, and felt the smooth hilt of Ember, and then the polished hilt of Cellica. A quick inspection of her belt revealed that all her potions, in an orderly row with a wooden stopper on her left belt pouch, were present. Bombs were likewise present, with each nestled in their pouch, the dimeritium bombs glowing a faint blue through their casing. Yang's brow furrowed in confusion, something was off, shouldn't she be somewhere else?

She remembered, she was supposed to meet Blake and Ruby here for Forefather's Eve, so they could put Dad to rest. Yang sighed and began walking through the forest, leaving Bumblebee behind with an open patch of grass. The forest was...off, something wasn't right. The leaves were dark and covered in shadow, yet the full moon was dead overhead. No birds were chirping, no small animals scurried in the bushes to hide from the approaching witcher. Yang swallowed as her unease grew.

"No sound, environment is off, no creatures, no wind. Odd, usually this only happens with a failed summon..." Yang's eyes widened in horror as she realized, and then a scream sounded from up ahead. They had started without her. Why would Blake start without a third to act as an anchor, a stabilizer? She was the booksmart witcher, she should know better. 

Yang started running, tearing through bushes that painfully snagged her armor at every opportunity, slowing her down. She was tempted to use Igni, but starting a forest fire on Forefather's Eve was the worst kind of luck. The ungodly howls of undead spirits echoed through the forest, and Yang grimaced, this wasn't looking good. Leaves took on a sickly glow as the whole forest came under some sort of spell, and the trees began to grow pale and gnarled. 

"Damnit Blake, I'm going to scream your ears off for putting my sister in this situation..." Yang began as she pushed into the clearing where Blake and Ruby were supposed to be waiting. 

Yang's horror and panic grew as she took in the scene. The clearing was about 30 meters in length, with a rotting grass and dying flowers scattered on the ground. The entire space was filled with an unearthly light, and specters danced and weaved in between worlds, their tormented screams wailing from both impossibly distance and right at Yang's neck. Blake was crouched over Ruby, who was clutching her side, blood seeping from a wound that festered and trickled puss. Her face was just as sweet and innocent as Yang remembered, and it was contorted in pain as Ruby's whimpers of pain carried over the screams of the specters that were trying to close in on Blake. 

Yang's anguish at the sight of Ruby only doubled when she saw Blake, who was bleeding from a dozen different cuts. Gambol was alight with Igni and Axii runes, and Yang paused for a moment. Didn't Shroud and Gambol have Quen and Axii runes? Blake's eyes darted between targets, continually and calming assessing the situation just like Vesemir had taught them. Her eyes connected with Yang's, and filled with a slimmer of hope. Yang reached for Cellica, only to find air where her hilt should have been. 

"What?" Yang said, it had just been there...

A specter materialized mid swing, and its lamp connected with Yang's jaw. The force of the blow sent her flying across the clearing before slamming into a tree, pain arching up her back as a knoll connected with her spine. Yang grunted in pain and rolled on impact, drawing Ember and casting Quen in one quick motion before springing towards Blake. If she could reach her, they could cover each other and protect Ruby. Another specter materialized mid swing, and Yang ducked under its strike before cutting through it with Ember. The blade passed through harmlessly, but it caused the specter to pause its attack and drift backwards. 

This was all wrong, everything was off. Ruby and Blake didn't know each, did they? Specters didn't fade in and out of reality this smoothly, this consistently. They teleported completely, or not at all. Yang ducked under one specter's sword only for it to bring another to bear, slicing through her shoulder with a speed that shouldn't have been possible. Not only that, specters didn't carry two swords, unless Talon had misinformed them with his lecture. Nothing made sense, but Yang had to focus, Ruby and Blake needed her. 

She gripped Ember harder and cast Yrden on the ground, and a circle of glowing purple runes appeared at her feet. At least a dozen specters cried out in pain as they were dragged forcefully back onto the physical plane, and Yang went to work. She ducked under two swings before cleaving one in two with Ember, before spinning to parry one Specter's blade. Her arms went numb, but she didn't care, Blake and Ruby needed her, she couldn't afford to be weak. Yang ducked and drove Ember into the Wraith's stomach, and it collapsed with an unnatural howl. 

Yang kept fighting, and three more wraiths died, but she took hits. A sword swing caught her across the back as she turned, and one scratched her across the chin as she ducked a fraction too late, the pale blade absorbing the blood and turning a deep crimson. Yang frowned as she cut the wraith's head off, their blades didn't do that. What was going on, and why was everything so off? How could this all be real? 

She wasn't sure, but the pain she felt when a wraith's blade passed right through Ember to cleave through her right breast was very real. Yang almost passed out from the pain as she dove away. She got to her feet, panting as red blood poured from the wound, coating the front of her armor. Yang could feel her body going into shock already, which wasn't right. The Trial of the Grasses increased her pain tolerance and durability by a huge margin, one cut, albeit extremely painful, shouldn't be sending her into shock. 

Yang pressed a hand against the wound, and it came away slick with her own blood. She needed to close the wound to stay in the fight, so she could help Blake and Ruby. Her hand dropped to her belt, which was coated in her own blood, and brushed up against leather instead of glass. That wasn't right, where was her swallow? She looked down to see her belt had disappeared, and instead her armor continued uninterrupted to her pants. She would've noticed if a wraith had cut the belt loose, wouldn't she? Everything was off, wrong, and the ghostly howl that continued in the background set a pit of fear into her stomach. All these wraiths must be causing reality to warp, which meant she needed to get Blake and Ruby out of here, fast. Everything was disorienting, and Yang clenched her fist, leather gloves digging against her glove, the fabric tightening around her fingers as she tried to find something normal to cling to. 

"Yang!" Blake screamed, and Yang looked up in time to see a wraith knock Shroud from Blake's hands, its silver blade glinting in the pale light as it landed next to Ruby, who was disturbingly still. Her silver eyes stared into Yang, and she felt the world get knocked out from under her, her sister was dead because she couldn't get there fast enough. Another wraith grabbed Blake's arms and lifted her up, where she struggled in vain to break free. Aard tore from her fingers, a shockwave crashing into every wraith around her, but they didn't move at all. That shouldn't be possible, what was happening?

"Blake!" Yang screamed, her voice hoarse and panicked. First Ruby, now Blake? Blake's eyes met Yang's from across the clearing, wide and filled with fear. 

"Yang, help me!" Blake thrashed, her ears pressed low in fear as a wraith drew his sword back. Time slowed to a crawl as Yang's heart threatened to explode. Blake's yellow eyes widened in terror as she tried to pull away, but the wraith holding her didn't let her move. She looked at Yang, a few tears in her eyes, "Yang, help me, please..." Her face contorted in agony as Yang stood watching the wraith's sword slide through her Kaer Morhen armor, and into her stomach. Yang's world shattered, and she fell to her knees in shock. Not Blake, not the girl she grew up with. She had been there so many times for Yang, and when she needed it the most, Yang had failed her. She faintly realized she was screaming and crying at the same time, trying desperately to crawl towards the wraiths. 

Yang tried to rise to her feet, but they gave out and she watched helpless as the wraith removed its blade, the ghostly sword dripping crimson. Blake's eyes were wide with shock as her face slowly drained of color, and the wraith holding her up threw her aside. She landed a foot away from Yang, who desperately crawled over to her friend. 

Yang's mind started operating on two different levels, instinct and emotion. Blake weakly clutched at the gaping hole in her chest, her hands stained with her own blood. Yang's instincts took over her body, and she recalled Reia's lecture on medical treatment. Her emotions were in turmoil, panic, rage, and grief all collided in a tidal wave that Yang's mind stopped even trying to control. She let it roll over her while some small part of her kept focused on the task at hand. 

"Blake?" First step, use swallow. Her belt was empty, so she gently checked under Blake's paling arms to see hers. Wraith sword must have cut it off, since it too was gone. Damn. She was going numb, and it was hard to feel. Yang's body felt distant as she went through the motions. 

"Yang..." No swallow, time to resort to conventional methods. She needed to inspect the wound to find out what she was dealing with. Blake's arms were getting heavy, she was losing strength and blood. Yang had to move fast. 

"Stay still Blake, you're gonna make it." Some small part of her brain was on the verge of a breakdown from seeing her friend in this state, but Reia's endless drilling took over. 

"Yang... I don't think I'm gonna..." Blake coughed weakly. Yang ignored her, and moved the arms away. The wraith's blade was thin, but it had pierced all the way to Blake's spine. 

"Severe trauma to the liver and spleen, nicked the spine and broke a rib with the force of the blow." Yang muttered, cutting a piece of Blake's undershirt off. That chest wound might be a sucking chest wound, it could end up collapsing Blake's lung if she didn't stop it from taking in air, not to mention Blake was turning cold and pale. 

"Gonna have to seal up that wound, you need to keep pressure on it." She needed to clean the wound first, but didn't have any water. She bushed it over with another piece of cloth and hoped for the best. Yang tied the piece of clothing as tightly as she could against the wound, hopefully it would stop the in-flow of oxygen, as well as any bleeding. 

"Damnit Yang," Blake coughed up some blood, "I know how bad it is. Just...let me go." Yang ignored her, and wiped a tear out of her eye as she worked. Chest wound was as stable as it could be. Next step, check her condition. 

"Blake, just keep listening to my voice. Its all going to be alright." Check the pupils. Blake's yellow eyes are barely recognizable under the dilation. Her pulse had skyrocketed, and the skin was cool and clammy to the touch. Not good.

"You're going into shock. Listen to my voice and focus, Blake. You'll make it." She needed to try and lessen the shock enough to give Blake's witcher enhanced healing time to work. 

"Yang..." Yang tuned her out, she needed to treat Blake. She was already lying down and still, so she just needed to warm her up. 

"Just keep talking Blake, you're gonna be fine." Yang's emotions were a firestorm she was barely keeping battened down. She wanted to break down and hold her life-long friend, but right now that wasn't an option. She needed to warm Blake up, but her cloak was back on Bumblebee. 

She didn't have anything else other than body heat, so Yang used that. Blake was cold, and gasped weakly in surprise as Yang held her close, head nestled into her neck. "You're gonna be fine Blake."

"Let me go..." Blake whispered weakly, and failed to continue. Yang let the emotions out, and began shaking against her lifelong friend as she grew even colder. She had done all she could. 

"Stay with me Blake." Yang closed her eyes and let the tears fall openly, it was all up to fate now. It was never supposed to end like this, Blake was supposed to make enough money to buy a library, a beach house, or something. Anything but this. Yang had never felt so helpless and afraid. How could see live without Blake? It would be like losing a part of herself.

"Please Yang..." Her voice was growing quieter, and Yang started shaking, her sobs muffed on her friend's neck.

"Come on Blake, keep talking, stay with me." 

"I..." 

"That's it, keep focused. Everything's gonna be fine." 

"Blake?" Yang's voice cracked. Blake sighed into her ear, a warm breath that held a haunting finality that Yang refused to accept. 

"Come on Blake, talk to me. Focus on my voice."

"Stay with me now. We're gonna make it, just hold on."

"Blake, talk to me. Please." 

"Stay with me. Say something. Anything." 

"Blake? Blake?" Yang choked back a sob and slowly began rocking back and forth. 

"No no no no, stay with me, don't go."

"We were going to teach together at Kaer Morhen, remember? Remember?" 

"Blake, answer me!" Her friend was still cold, lifeless, wrong. This couldn't be Blake, wasn't Blake. 

"Please. For the love of God, don't go Blake."

"Please, I need you." Yang collapsed against her friend, burying her face deep against Blake and losing all control. She wept openly, and closed her eyes praying for it to end. It did, but then another nightmare began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had to do my research for this one. Apparently waterboarding really fucks you up. Since I couldn't convince a friend to test it out on myself, I had to use second hand accounts, which didn't paint a pretty picture. 
> 
> Emerald is still shaky ground for me, since there are so many different ways to go and alot of horrible ideas to weed out. Any feedback on what already happened is greatly appreciated. Emotional moment or a way to early cheap shot? 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and hopefully it was a good read, if not an enjoyable chapter. Poor Yang, I felt like such a scumbag writing that all out, but I guess if it doesn't mess me up, I can't expect it to mess the reader up either.


	8. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake Belladonna returns from her journey to Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, SO SORRY FOR THE HORRIBLE WAIT. Life kept riding me ragged, and I could barely find time to think, let alone write. If this seems shorter, that's why. I'm sorry and I hope this doesn't become the norm.

____________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Temeria/Vale Border region, 10 days later...)

Adam neighed softly as they passed another dead body, this one belonging to a Temerian soldier. Neo nudged Silence forward, her eyes scanning the battlefield for any dangers. Talon had always taught them that just because a fight appeared finished, it never meant it actually was. 

"We should investigate, see if whatever did this is nearby. If we're lucky, it might even have contract." Blake said as she dismounted. Neo shrugged and did the same. 

Lambert always liked to joke about how Neo's horse talked more than she did, but Blake couldn't deny the purpose in which the smaller witcher moved to a corpse and knelt. Blake picked the corpse closest to her, before rolling it onto its back and beginning. 

"Faunus, Temerian. Three stripes under a Temerian lily. Sergeant." Blake closed the tiger faunus's eyes and sighed. Too many were lost to Grimm and monsters, the pointless wars only made her sad. "Blade cut through his throat, leather gorget, homemade."

She ran a finger through the cut leather, a faint smudge of dried blood staining her glove. The faunus's armor was dented and scratched, but not by a blade. "Close in fighting, no room to maneuver blades. Was pinned by another faunus." Blake inspected one of the scratches, it was long and narrow. "Either a cheetah or a panther faunus." 

She turned to the sergeant's fists. Their brown fur was matted with blood, claws still extended and covered in blood and dirt. "Defensive wounds, not enough leverage to do real damaged. Faunus attacker was a half breed, judging from lack of fur or elongated mane normally associated with a cheetah or panther faunus. Pinned down by one, another comrade slit his throat." Blake rose and surveyed the battlefield, which was littered with Temerian bodies, and bloodstained faunus corpses interspersed throughout. 

"Fighting was even, close quarters, bloody and brutal." Blake counted too many bodies mangled by small knives and the desperation of conscripted grunts fighting against extremists. "The company was ambushed, and went down fighting. Footmen in the front." Blake blinked as she stared down at the faunus in front of her, "archers fell back as the leadership retreated." 

Blake moved on, walking towards the back of the battle. You could learn to read a battle, the ebb and flow painted on a bloody canvas of human corpses. It was sickening, but almost captivating, in a morbid sense, according to some witchers. Blake didn't see it, but then again she had never been concerned with studying the dead. She preferred to focus on fighting for the living. 

The temerian's wounds told a tale all too common, one that brought up a fresh pain. It was just like at Kaer Morhen, "Wounds go from minor cuts and frontal wounds of close combat to longer, deeper cuts. More thrusts, the distance between the armies was increasing." Blake knelt in front of a human, young female about 22 years old. She bore the stripe of a field medic, and had died to a spear in the back. "Wounds shift to the back. The superiors retreated, the sergeants sounded the retreat order." Her thoughts went back to the tiger faunus, "Most died fighting to make sure some of their men made it out."

Neo tapped Blake on the shoulder, before gesturing towards the woods. Blake followed the shorter witcher as she walked over and inspected something in the bushes. Neo fished around the small half dead shrub as Blake glanced around. There weren't alot of bodies in the area, but the smell of alcohol and piss was strong. Obviously whoever Neo was trying to find had stopped to celebrate their victory as most men do, with booze. Blake inhaled again, and caught the scent of something even worse, but equally predictable. Her thoughts turned to the dead field medic, and Blake clenched her fist, she had gotten off easy. 

Neo finally found her prize, and pulled a piss stained beer flask from the bush, before sniffing slightly. Blake nudged her shoulder, and Neo handed the flask over. Blake accepted it, tracing a finger along a stain's edge. The leather was worn and rough, poor quality, and well used. The metal was rusted and the cap barely unscrewed anymore from the state of the ruts in the metal. She carefully sniffed the edge, and was hit with the scent of cheap moonshine. 

"Homemade booze, worn flask. What makes finding a few sellswords so important?" Blake dropped the flask into Adam's saddlebag. Neo rose and winked at Blake, before motioning towards the forest. 

Blake still wasn't sure why Neo insisted this group would help her find Yang, and her doubts had only grown since they started finding bodies. The lack of communication only made it more frustrating, not that Neo was trying that hard to explain herself. In the end, she trusted Neo. If a day came where Blake couldn't trust the wolves she grew up with, she wasn't sure she would be able to trust anyone. 

Regardless, Blake and Neo followed the revelers sloppily laid tracks, there were around 5 in total. They were carrying something in between them, probably whatever loot they scavenged from the dead. It was around 5 minutes later that the stench of decay began to hit Blake, who drew Shroud. Neo drew Resolve, its silver blade glowing a pale blue from the runes that coated the blade. 

"Necrophages will have gathered by now." Blake advanced at a trot, ears twitching at every rustle of the leaves and every small bird cry in the woods. Faunus hearing was already good, and the Trial of the Grasses only added to her senses. 

They both found the body a few minutes later, in a small clearing. It was leaning against a tree on the far side of the camp. A well built campfire stood in the center of the clearing, the wood covered in dirt and ash. Two rocks made makeshift benches around the fire, with scattered leavings of bone and food scraps. No necrophages had gathered yet, which was odd. 

Blake slid Shroud back into its sheath as she approached the campfire. Traces of smoke and roasting deer touched her nostrils. "Campfire's still pretty fresh, the ash hasn't all been blown away by the wind. Food scraps haven't all been taken by forest animals either." Blake raised an eyebrow as Neo rolled her eyes. 

"It helps." Blake glared as Neo shrugged, as if saying If you say so. 

The only other object of interest was the body, slumped over against one of the bigger trees on the far clearing. Blake knelt down beside it and began her examination after pushing it fully upright. A sword protruded from the man's gut, and what was likely keeping him against the tree. It was a man, looked to be in his earlier thirties to Blake. 

"Sword pinned him against the tree. Not alot of blood, most of it coagulated near the wound. This wound was inflicted post mortem, to create some type of warning?" Blake slowly removed the blade from the dead man's chest. It gleamed, and the blood slid off easily as she wiped it on the grass. 

"Well maintained, good steel finish. No sell-sword worth his price would leave this here, so who did this?" Blake set the blade down, before Neo picked it up to begin her own inspection. Blake focused in on the various small cuts and scars covering the man's body. "Multiple open cuts, as well as many closed ones. All are clustered around either joints or sensitive nerve clusters, all shallow and short. Systemic torture." 

Blake looked down at his arms, which rested limply against the tree and ground, bent at a weird angle. "Broke his arms in three separate places." Blake cut pieces of his blood-stained Temerian armor away on his arms. "Bruises on the wound locations, looks like a blunt object was used." 

Blake lastly turned her inspection to the man's face. His eyes were a dull and lifeless brown, and Blake didn't meet them for more then a second. She focused instead on his facial wounds. "Nose was broken, then cut by a small hunting knife. Strong chin, decent complexion. Army Captain, odds are this was a lesser noble's son. So why not ransom him?" Blake fingered the insignia patch she had cut from his army, it was new, this was probably his first commission. 

She heard a bow string release, and dove to the side as an arrow slammed into the temerian's body. Blake's ears went flat as her mind stopping thinking, and her body started moving. Gambol had cleared its sheath before the second archer fired from the treeline to her left. Neo's blade gracefully cut the arrow in half as she stepped in front of Blake. Geralt had given them lessons on group combat, though Yang had often joked it was really a history on Geralt and Ciri's father-daughter bond. 

Blake tightened her grip on Gambol and scanned the forest in front of her as she stepped up to cover Neo's flank, as the smaller witcher lowered her stance. Blake was tempted to cast Quen, but she wanted to keep her options open. Her breaths came in slower as her perception of time changed. Her attackers launched another volley of arrows, this time 10 arched towards each witcher. Blake didn't remember how to evaluate the trajectory of the arrow storm, she just knew. Talon had drilled it into every apprentice at least a hundred times. Elevated position, spread out archers, minimal cover between Blake and them. One hand left Gambol's hilt to rip open the left pouch on her belt, where it withdrew one glistening sphere. 

Blake flung Samum at the treeline with one hand, before spinning and slicing through the shaft of one oncoming arrow with Gambol in the other hand. She was 10 feet forward by the time the last arrow struck the ground behind her. She ducked her head as the Samum exploded, and a few cries of surprise and fear came from the ambushers. Her ears twitched as the sound of a few more bow springs released, and she leapt side-ways mid stride. The arrows sailed past, and Blake reached the treeline. 

One archer came into view immediately, his chosen blind a poor cover. Blake's eyes took in his outfit at a glance as she brought Gambol down into his shoulder. It bit down into the bone and shattered his collarbone, her witcher strength driving the blade through his torso as the faunus let out a pained scream. His white cloak was quickly stained crimson, and the three clawed logo emblazoned on the center vanished. Was she facing a sellsword company? The last organized sellsword company had been The Black Company, which had nearly sacked half the northern kingdoms in its contract. 

Another arrow sounded, and Blake spun, one hand dancing even as it left Gambol's hilt, and a yellow shield shimmered into existence as the arrow struck, sending ripples through the magic barrier. Blake felt her stamina drain slightly, and gritted her teeth as she scanned for the attacker. Another arrow struck her shield from behind, and it wavered. Blake tensed her knees and leapt, the shield exploding outward as its glyph was abandoned, the shockwave sending two more arrows flying off course. She needed to pick her targets, and stay mobile. Blake leapt over a gnarled log in front of her and didn't break stride as the archer in front of her abandoned his bow in favor of a short sword. His hand drew the blade from a well oiled sheath, and Blake's eyes widened. 

Runes ignited across the flat of the blade, and Blake brought Gambol to bear as the faunus swung a tight arc towards her midsection. One of Blake's feet lashed out, and the attacker's knee collapsed inward, sending him off balance. The witcher-forged blade fell from his hands as Blake thrust Gambol into his exposed neck. He dropped to the floor, and Blake stopped for a second to inspect the blade. 

The familiar patterns of flame and poison runes glittered menacingly in the shade of the forest around them. Vagrants getting ahold of witcher blades wasn't common, but not unheard of. What troubled Blade was that this sword was a gladius, preferred infantry short sword of many, and something no witcher smith should have ever produced. Her thoughts were interrupted by a rustle to her left, and Blake spun to confront another archer, only to see nothing. 

The wind flickered slightly, and Blake felt something slam into her midsection hard enough to drive her into a tree and wind her. Confusion mingled with pain as a blade sliced into her midsection, even though there was nothing in front of her. Her eyes narrowed a fraction, and Blake cast Aard on instinct, the blue force exploding from her finger tips and into whatever had attacked her. It said nothing as it was thrown backwards, and Blake could make out the faintest distortion in the air before it vanished. The trees had gone silent, and Blake's ears twitched. She could no longer hear any arrows, or Neo. 

A twig snapped a foot in front of Blake, and she struck. Gambol sang as it cleaved downward in what was Blake's best guess as her attackers path, and a clash of steel sounded in the air as Blake felt a blade deflect her own strike to the side. She leapt backwards, and felt the cold steel of her attackers blade slash where she had been a second before. Blake couldn't help but recall her fight against the Bruxa, and a shiver of unease laced up her spine. She needed moondust, but her bombs were on Adam's saddlebags. 

Blake saw the air shimmer a bit on her left, and cast Igni, the flames scorching the forest around the shimmer, and a figure became slightly visible as it leapt through the blaze. The fabric on its clothes was illuminated by a few embers, and the steel's runes shimmered as the faunus's blades flickered in and out of visibility. 

Blake pivoted and side-stepped the first slash, rapidly processing this new information. The faunus wasn't using magic, as the spell would have either held completely or shattered all together. It must be a huntress using her semblance, which meant that Blake needed dimeritium, something she didn't have. The huntress's blades disappeared completely again, and Blake ducked under one before driving her shoulder into the huntress's chest, feeling the invisible body give way slightly. Blake spun in with Gambol, slicing low towards her feet to make it harder for the huntress to dodge the attack. 

Blake was rewarded when Gambol slammed into two crossed blades, one ontop of her blade and the other crossed down in front of it, the huntress pushing the sword away with all her strength. Her lack of concentration allowed the cloak enveloping her to slowly dissipate, revealing a female tiger faunus with eyes similar to Blake's, a piercing yellow common to many cat faunus. Her skin was a dark tan, with even darker stripes running across what was exposed. Her armor was light, a charred leather chest piece and black coat-tails extending from the front and back of her red belt, each of the 4 infused with red dust. Two cat ears were pressed flat against the faunus's dark hair, and a single red jewel was embedded into her forehead. White edges completely her outfit, glimmering slightly with what Blake could only guess were magic runes of an unknown script. 

She snarled in frustration, and Blake kept pressing Gambol inward, only to have one of the blades adjust its angle and push the blade back. "Who are you?" Blake demanded, leaning in closer to see her opponent. 

The faunus's brows furrowed, and she tried to show Blake away. Blake simply leaned over the smaller faunus to gain better leverage and put her slightly off balance. "I am no one." 

Blake wasn't in a position to cast Axii, so she tried a different tactic. "Why did you attack me?" The faunus just hissed, before kicking out of Blake. Her leg couldn't gather much force, but Blake didn't count on the dust infusions on the faunus's armor. A burst flame slammed straight into Blake's upper chest, searing her armor and blinding her for a moment as her eyes averted the blinding light. 

She leapt backwards, casting Quen as she did so. The huntress was invisible again, but Blake didn't have time to locate her, and the faunus didn't give her time to. Blake saw a slight shimmer in the air to her side, and leaned left. A blade passed her chin by inches, and she drove her knee into the chest of the faunus. Quen shattered as the faunus slashed downward with her other blade, and Blake saw a flash of her black armor as the semblance waver slightly. Blake leapt forward with Gambol, and went on the attack. 

She had learned from the few huntsman she had fought before that semblances cost energy, so she just had to wear out the huntress before Blake made a mistake that got herself killed. Her thoughts drifted towards bruxa. Blake arched Gambol to aim for the chest region, using her other hand free for signs. Her blade moved fast, her witcher speed pressing the faunus hard. Steel rang out amidst the trees as they moved, Blake could make out the faintest shimmers as the faunus's blades danced around Gambol. She ducked under one strike and took a cut to the back as the faunus ducked under Gambol's swing. 

She gritted her teeth as frustration welled up inside her. One hand tightened on Gambol as she drove a fist into the ground and inscribed the pattern for Yrden. The faunus once again came into view on her right, daggers crossed in a reverse grip. Blake straightened, and swung Gambol in a small arc at her side. The faunus threw one dagger, its runed blade spinning end over end towards Blake's chest. She side stepped and let it embed itself in the thick trunk behind her, in time to see the faunus throw a bomb towards her feet. Blake recognized a dimeritium casing, and swore internally. She couldn't cut through that bomb without detonating it, and in such an enclosed forest she couldn't escape the blast. It detonated, and green haze covered both her and the faunus, robbing both of their magic. 

"You need your aura more than I need signs." Blake said, and the faunus just laughed. Her laugh never reached her eyes, which were still coolly appraising Blake's loose stance. 

"Lower that stance wolf. If you still want to fight, that is." Blake tensed as her wolf medallion became much more apparent against her neck. Not many recognized witcher schools by name, preferring easier terms like mutant and devil. 

The faunus tilted her head, and Blake kept her expression neutral, though her tone darkened. "I wasn't the one that attacked." The faunus nodded her head, stance still open. 

"I wanted to make sure I was getting my money's worth." The faunus crossed her arms, dagger still bared, as if daring Blake to attack. "Witchers of all people should appreciate cost benefit analysis." 

"What's the benefit in letting your own people die?" Blake risked a glance at one of the dead archers. His green eyes were lifelessly staring up towards the forest canopy, shrouded slightly in its shade. "Seems like a high cost for two wandering monster hunters."

The faunus regarded the body, and her eyes softened, and her face fell. "We all must sacrifice much, this is bigger than any of us." Her gaze returned to Blake, devoid of emotion once more. "I'm surprised a witcher even cares about lives."

"We have to care, we were taught to protect." The faunus's gaze hardened. 

"Vesemir taught you to exterminate monsters. Not how to care about the carnage that follows them." Blake's eyes narrowed, and her ears lowered slowly. 

Her knuckle went white around Gambol's hilt. "What would you know about Vesemir?" 

"Enough." The faunus blinked, before leaning against a tree on the far side of the clearing. "He taught you to fight, maim, without remorse." She walked forward, eyes never leaving Blake as her dagger rested at her side. "How to sell that bloody work for coin. No higher purpose."

Blake looked down into the faunus's eyes, she was within arms distance. "What would you know about purpose, brigand?" The faunus just smiled back up at her. 

"Just like your crusade to rescue your friend will end." Blake's eyes narrowed just as her heart raced and her blood ran cold. 

The faunus sheathed her knife, making a clear statement. Blake couldn't kill her since it might compromise any leads on Yang. "Tell me what you know." Blake felt herself tensing, preparing herself. She would force the faunus to tell her if it came down to it. The faunus saw her tense and leaned to one side, hand brushing against the grooved hilt of her dagger.

"Why would I pay a mercenary when her contract isn't completed?" Blake's fist was around the faunus's throat before she knew what she was doing. All her instincts cared about is that this faunus could help her find Yang, and she wasn't. 

"Tell. me. where. she. is." Blake tightened her grip, feeling the faunus's throat against her gloves, and how it tightened and squeezed. 

The faunus glared, and snapped a finger. Blake heard bowstrings drawing taunt, and dropped the faunus with a sigh. She hit the dirt with a gasp, and coughed up a string of bile, before rising to her feet. "I've had enough of this game." Her eyes fixed on Blake, and they held an iron will that was new. 

"Tell me where to find my friend, and I can be on my way." The faunus walked over to where her other discarded dagger lay, witcher steel unmarred even by the force of Blake's swings. 

Blake reluctantly sheathed Gambol, eyeing the archers around her with caution. There were 10, and none of them appeared to be wounded. A flash of concern for Neo entered her mind, and Blake reluctantly stifled it. She could only deal with one problem at a time. "You are going to help me with what I need, and I will help you rescue your friend." 

Blake eyed the tiger faunus suspiciously, is was all too sudden. She had gone from trying to kill Blake to offering her help within the span of minutes. "Why?" She had to make sure she wasn't getting played by a few well informed brigands. Had Raven told them to make Blake an easier mark?

The faunus crossed her arms, and cocked her head. "The same people holding Yang are the ones that cut off our supplies of arms and bombs. Kaer Morhen was critical, and Ozpin's toy soldiers are sitting on the last bomb stockpile we're going to have access to." Blake's brow furrowed in confusion, why would The Grandmaster allow selling witcher grade materials to bandits? Unless he didn't know, and the forgemasters had gone corrupt...

Either prospect was troubling, but both The Grandmaster and the forgemasters were dead. Yang was alive, and Blake was being offered a chance to save her. "If I help you, I want all the help you can possibly muster." The faunus nodded, eyes confident and pleased. Blake searched their amber depths for any hint of treachery, but found none. "So what did you need my help for?"

"Our chapter leader has been possessed. You are going to remove the demon haunting him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The plot thickens, and I figured I might as well start using some Season 5 characters in here, cause they seem so interesting right now. Any feedback is appreciated :D. I didn't die, and this work is still alive, but life just isn't making it easy rn. Had to fight for every word on this chapter.


	9. Penance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang's torment takes a new and unexpected turn as Jaune helps Ruby face her demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, finally! I had wanted to return to my 3 segment norm, but I've had to take my time, life's been busy and I really wanted to try and make sure I made everything believable. 
> 
> Please, I love it when you give me feedback, its what helps me improve my writing and hopefully the story I'm telling. I love hearing from you guys!

___________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, location unknown, date forgotten...)

She swung gently from the ceiling, her eyes blank and unseeing. She no longer wanted to see, for sight lead to vision, vision to recognition, recognition to emotion, emotion to pain. She no longer could trust her eyes, for they lied. A drop of blood fell from her back down onto the floor, feeding the waxing crimson pool below her. Yang swung back towards the door, the chains still biting into her legs from where she hung, but it was one of the only constants she knew. The door to her prison opened, and one ear twitched slightly at the sound. Yang chuckled, sound. Hearing lead to thought, thought led to recognition, recognition to emotion, emotion to pain. Her ears had lied to her just as easily as her eyes. 

"What's so funny?" A voice. Cocky, male, confident, familiar. She remembered, drowning, knives, broken limbs, and so much more. Yang flinched at the recollection. Her mind went blank again, it was effort to think, there was naught of use to remember. 

Yang had given up all hope of escape. She could no longer tell what was real, what was a lie, what was a trick versus an actual event. Another crimson drop ran down her arm, warm against her skin before it fell into the puddle below. A fleeting thought entered her mind, Blake would come for her. Yang tried to laugh, but instead coughed blood onto the boots of whoever would torment her today. She didn't even know if Blake was alive, or trying to rescue her. She had seen Blake die in front of her, seen her tortured in front of her, been tortured at Blake's hand multiple times, even watched Blake try and rescue her multiple times, only to die. Each time Yang had been tormented with the question of whether it was real or not, especially as Gambol and Shroud had cleaved crossing scars into her chest.

A hand gripped her hair and yanked her face upward, and another familiar face came into view. "Our guest seems to be a little out of it." The voice is soft, seductive, sinister. She let Yang's head fall back down towards the floor. 

A third voice, female, bored, spoke. "She's broken." Yang kept staring at the floor to avoid looking at the source of the pain, the nightmares. "Shattered."

Another drop fell, and Yang's eyes dimly traced the falling drop, and wondered if any of her sibling wolves would inspect her blood stains, her traces like she had done to so many others. If there were any left, she had witnessed dozens of horrible fates for each, and they had inflicted many more against her. Perhaps they had, the scars Neo had left across her back were still present, and bleeding. 

"Not many can survive against you." Male again.

"She lasted longer than most." The leader traced a fingernail against Yang's exposed chest, following the scar Vesemir had given her in what she had hoped was a dream. The memory of the trophy hook tearing into her lower stomach leapt unbidden into her mind. "But we need to escalate. Broaden the scope. Huntsmen are showing up tortured in the Vale forests. Ozpin wants us on the front, trying to stop it."

Yang heard her chains slid off the hook, and a second later the floor rushed up to meet her. Instincts demanded that she roll like Talon taught her, but her mind couldn't marshal the effort. Pain had long since stopped being something to make major efforts to avoid. A boot rolled her over, and Yang moved one hand to cover her eyes against the dust lamp shining directly in to her. 

"Fine. Lets get started, shall we?" Yang weakly tried to pull away from the green haired, red eyed tortress that was always inside her head. The worst part was that she appeared even within her illusions, and had taken Yang from illusion to illusion for what had felt like years. Yang wasn't even sure if she had ever let Yang back into reality. She always made sure to let Yang know that reality was a luxury she couldn't indulge in. 

Her hand connected with Yang's forehead, and Yang felt her mind fade into nothingness once again. 

Yang bolted awake when something touched her forehead, and was met with a shocked giggle. A child of no more than 10 was perched on her lap, her hair a jet black with red eyes. Two cat ears were twitching playfully as she bounced up and down on Yang's lap. 

"You're finally up! Can we go to the festival? You promised." The girl looked up at Yang expectantly. Her eyes were happy, innocent. They reminded Yang of Ruby....

She looked around suddenly, where was she? Something didn't feel right, but she couldn't place it. The room was spacious, with a massive bookshelf on the left-hand wall. A small couch and foot rests sat next to it. The wall next to the bookshelf was a pale grey, with two sets of mounted witcher blades next to a door leading to a latrine. Yang was laying on a soft bed, big enough for two. 

"Mom, come on and wake up a bit faster!" The girl nudged her shoulder, and Yang turned to look at her. She was so familiar...., but she had called Yang mom?

"Who are you?" Yang got off of the bed, and the girl clumsily rolled to her feet, looking at Yang with concern. Yang looked down, and saw she wasn't in her Kaer Morhen armor, rather in a yellow nightshirt and grey leggings. 

"Its happening again, isn't it?" The girl took on a weary look, before reaching out with one hand. Yang's instincts reacted for her, and she side stepped around the girl towards her two blades. They were another recognizable sight, but it was also marred by changes. Ember's hilt was adorned by an unfamiliar symbol, and the hilt held a sheen that only a grandmaster smith could instill in a hilt, especially one as well used as those in witcher blades. 

Yang grabbed Ember, the weight comforting in her hands. "What's happening?" The girl's ears lowered slightly and her stance widened. Yang's eyes narrowed, she was trained to some extent, something no child should be. 

The girl's eyes followed the weapon as Yang shifted stances and inched towards the door that didn't lead to the latrine. The girl moved to block her path, movements fluid. "You're having another episode. You need to calm down mom, everything is alright." 

Yang tightened her grip on Ember's hilt and gripped the sheath in her other hand, smoothly drawing the blade. The girl breathed in sharply, and stepped forward slightly. "What are you?" Yang dropped the sheath and leveled Ember towards the girl. Something was seriously wrong here, and her whole body screamed beware, but she didn't know what to beware.

"This one's bad, Mo...Yang, I'm your daughter. You are having another episode, you need to relax. Set Ember down, and let me go get Blake..." The girl held up two hands and reached for Ember's hilt. 

Yang flicked the blade upward and pressed Ember's tip against the girls throat, who started to go wide eyed. "I don't have a daughter. What are you? Capable of Illusions, deception, disarming your victims... Alp, maybe twisted wizard. So what do you want?" The girl's eyes warily inspected the blade at her throat, before meeting Yang's.

Yang saw only sadness and desperation in them as the girl lowered her hands, "I'm your daughter. Mom, I know you're confused, disoriented, and barely able to remember anything. We've both been through this before. Though.." She looked down at Ember, "not like this. Please just let me get mama, then you'll realize we're family..." 

Yang opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut her off. "Lydia." It was Blake's, full of shock and fear. 

Yang turned, keeping Ember pressed against Lydia's throat, and came face to face with Blake. Her presence was an old and welcome comfort, but soured with more unrecognizable changes. She wasn't in her usual witcher armor, but instead wore a white undershirt with a black riding vest over, with black trousers. "Blake..." She could trust her friend, right? "what's going on? Who is she, where am I?" Blake's cold eyes softened, and she stepped closer, ears folded over slightly. 

Yang let the edge of Ember press lighter against Lydia's throat, who had relaxed ever since Blake entered the room. Blake set a hand on the hand holding Ember, "Come on, put the sword down. Let me help you." Yang let Ember fall a few inches, but rose it again towards Lydia's throat.

Yang looked to Blake in anguish, "Nothing makes sense. We're friends, not lovers. We couldn't have had a child, why would we have had a child?" Blake set both hand's on Yang's shoulders, and looked her in the eyes with compassion and pity. 

"Do you trust me?" Yang slowly nodded, and Blake put both hands on the sides of Yang's head, and her eyes widened in recognition. 

Ember dropped from her hands, clattering against the wood floor as the memories came flooding back. She saw herself so many times before, confused and lashing out in the same manner, only to end up in this same position. Sometimes Lydia was there, sometimes it was just Yang and Blake. It always ended the same way, with Blake holding her head in the same position. Yang's vivid memories trickled in slowly. The first date in Korvir, dinner in the Atlas gardens, Blake slowly leaning in, a white dress, poaching eggs early for Lydia's first day of school, watching as Blake activated her aura, bandaging her arm after a few neighborhood kids broke it, eating family dinner every saturday when Blake got back from her guard shift early, going to the Vytal Festival every year. Yang sagged into Blake's embrace, overwhelmed. 

Blake placed a hand on the back of Yang's head and pulled her in closer against her neck. "Do you remember now?" She asked softly, and Yang opened her mouth to respond, but another wave of memories surged through her mind. 

Blake standing in front of their daughter, bleeding from a cut across her upper chest, eyes pleading as blood stained through her dress. Yang standing in front of her, one hand on Ember, panting hard and barely able to stand. Blood dripping from the tip of the steel sword as Lydia cowered behind Blake's leg. Yang grimaced as she remembered how she hadn't seen her lover and her child, but the mages from the Trial of The Grasses. The horror has felt real, the agonizing after effects of the trials certainly felt real.

Yang standing in front of Vesemir's gravestone under the maple tree, Blake standing beside her. The old witcher's tombstone wind blown and faded, a single rose resting in front of it. "I wish he was here." 

Blake stepped up beside Yang, dress blowing in the wind. "I do too." Her purple silk dress stood out against the muted fall leaves, and the worn stones adorning the hillside. Blake's wolf medallion displayed prominently against her chest.

"I keep asking myself, why did he do it?" Yang knelt and deposited her sunflower, its yellow petals vibrant against the smooth stone. 

"Because he saw you as family." Blake placed her lilac flower beside Yang's sunflower, before clasping her hand against Yang's. "Come on, he wouldn't want you to wallow here all day. Every witcher's path comes to end, a journey most walk alone." Blake pulled gently, and led Yang away from the grave of the man who died saving her life at the siege of Kaer Morhen. 

Yang didn't realize she was crying until Blake was gently whispering to her, back and forth. "Yang, its alright. All of that was in the past, you're back now." Yang looked over Blake's shoulder to where Lydia was quietly sheathing Ember, eyes averted away from Blake and Yang. She moved with purpose, and it broke Yang's heart to realize that her own daughter had to live with this on such a regular basis. She was ashamed of what she was putting both of them through.

Yang pulled away from Blake, who let her go after some hesitation. Yang looked into Blake's eyes, and saw the stress and fatigue lurking underneath the concern in those striking yellow orbs. It was obvious Blake was trying to keep it hidden, but they knew each too well for that to work. Guilt welled up in Yang's chest, what was she doing to her best friend, lover? "Blake, why?" 

Blake pressed her forehead against Yang's, and forced her to meet Blake's eyes. Yang breathed in shakily, "Yang, I love you." Blake blinked and leaned in for a kiss, but Yang hesitated. 

"What's wrong?" Blake murmured, ears flattening in worry. "Are you alright?" 

Yang sighed, guilt and shame forcing her to look down at Blake's lap, "I can't keep doing this to you, to her." Yang's arms started to shake slightly. 

Blake let Yang lean against her for a moment, before using one hand to pull Yang's chin up to face her. "Then keep working with us. You've improved so much. The peller's been helping tremendously, so has the relic." 

Yang sighed, and Blake slowly helped her to her feet. Yang felt loved, and a pang of guilt struck as she saw Lydia turn and leave the room. Blake didn't deserve this, their daughter didn't deserve this. Blake turned, eyes warm and welcoming as she beckoned Yang to follow. Yang took one last look around the room, eyes stopping on Ember's hilt, and the off sensation returned. Something still felt wrong, and she paused.

"Come on Yang, even Geralt got ready faster than you do." Blake called, leaning into the room with a small half smile, but it never quite reached her eyes. "If you aren't up for this yet, I don't want to force you..."

Yang held up a hand, turning to face Blake with a small smile. "Thanks, but I'm fine." She stifled the pervasive sense of worry, there was nothing wrong. How could there be? She was going to spend the day with her family. "Let's go, hopefully the festival isn't too crowded." 

______________________________  
(Ruby Rose, Beacon, Present time....)

Ruby ducked as Jaune came in low with a swing, and lashed out with a kick towards his side, but he brought his shield up in time to catch the blow, and thrust forward. Ruby kicked off and leapt out of his blade's reach, twirling Crescent Rose once with a tiny smile. Jaune didn't let her rest, and leapt towards her with an overhand swing. 

She darted to the side and thrust the spiked tip of Crescent Rose towards his chest, but Jaune flicked the hilt aside with his blade before angling his shield's edge towards her throat. Ruby used her semblance to dash through Jaune, scattering into petals. It was always a weird sensation, she didn't see, didn't hear, she just knew. She became the wind, and then she was back, Crescent Rose in hand, and Jaune's exposed back in front of her. She gave him a predatory smile as his eyes widened. He tried to twist in mid-air, but it was futile. Crescent Rose slashed down across his plate armor, and he was sent plummeting down to the ground. 

Ruby grinned and moved in for the kill, cloak flowing with the wind. Jaune met her charge, blade singing before it slammed into Crescent Rose, and meeting her eyes. "Semblances? Isn't very fair of a fight." 

Ruby grinned and angled his blade down Crescent Rose's shaft, before slamming it upward into Jaune's shield and leaping up to the courtyard wall. She looked down at him, smiling. "Plate armor? Isn't very fair." Jaune straightened with a chuckle.

He stood silently in the middle of one of Beacon's many inner courtyards, designed to contain a training fight, or to trap invaders. Four massive stone walls encircled a stone floor with several training dummies and crates of wooden practice arrows pushed to the side. Jaune stood in the middle, looking up at her and breathing hard. His blue eyes met hers, and he smiled. Ruby tightened her grip on Crescent Rose, and Jaune lowered his stance. They had taken to sparring on these quiet nights, it helped Ruby take her minds of her studies, and other issues that plagued her. The memory of Mercury sharpening the countless knives in the workshop as she walked in to sharpen Crescent Rose flashed into her mind, him winking at her. 

"Don't worry, the blood didn't stain." His voice echoed in her mind, and Ruby gritted her teeth, and launched herself downward as fast as she could. Why did that bother her so much, why couldn't she get that conversation out of her head?

Jaune's shield came up, but it was too slow. Crescent Rose cleaved down across his armor, the blade screeching in protest. Jaune staggered backwards, metal boots scraping against the stone tiles, hand tightening around his blade as he leveled it against her. Ruby waited for him to breathe in, and moved. She was wind, and then she was at Jaune's side. 

He slashed, and Ruby leaned to the left, feeling his sword slash downward inches to her left. Ruby brought Crescent Rose in with a low arc, but Jaune dodged the strike. Ruby kept up the momentum, like she had been taught, and transitioned into another strike. Crescent Rose became an extension of her arms, and her arms became the wind. Jaune's face began to sweat, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Ruby kept pressing, and he went fully onto the defensive. Jaune's sword and shield were siblings, each working in tandem to create a wall of skill and steel that Ruby was slowly battering down. Ruby grunted and channeled a small part of her aura into her arms, which accelerated rapidly. Crescent Rose knocked his sword to the side, and Jaune rolled to Ruby's left. 

Ruby ducked as his blade sailed over her head, and swung Crescent Rose towards his knees. Crescent Rose collided with Jaune's shield with a jarring crash. Jaune slammed his shield into Ruby's chest, pinning Crescent rose against as he shoved her against the courtyard wall. Ruby gasped as the wind was knocked out of her, Jaune's shield pinning her arms. Ruby pushed against it, but he was too strong. Jaune was panting hard, but a triumphant grin spread across his face as he leveled his sword against Ruby's throat. 

"Do you yield?" Jaune asked in a deeper voice than normal, and Ruby snorted, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" His voice took an indignant tone.

Ruby chuckled, before mimicking Jaune's serious voice. "Do you yield?" She snorted again as Jaune glared at her. "You sounded so stupid and serious. Its training, and who says 'Do you yield'?"

Ruby suddenly found herself on the floor as Jaune stepped back and sheathed his sword and slung his shield over his back before extending one white gauntlet to help her up. Ruby accepted, and looked up at Jaune's irritated face. "I thought it was a perfectly normal thing to say. My dad said he said it all the time." 

"Well your dad is ancient." Ruby wilted a little as Jaune crossed his arms and gave her a disapproving look. "Sorry."

Jaune crossed his hands behind his head as they walked over towards the Beacon barracks, and stared up at the night sky. Ruby happily waved to one of the gate sentries as they continued. "Ruby?" Jaune asked quietly, and Ruby looked over at him, concern flaring in her. Jaune usually wasn't this subdued, especially around friends.

"What's the matter Jaune?" Ruby asked, nervously spinning Crescent Rose in a circle as they passed a pair of Beacon guardsmen, their swords secure in their sheaths. Jaune's face looked troubled in the afterglow of the guard's torches, and Ruby stopped walking to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You can tell me."

Jaune turned and frowned at Ruby for a second. "I'm worried about you. I've seen the way you react when you see Emerald or Mercury during training." Ruby's eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head. She hoped her surprise didn't show on her face, were her emotions so easily readable? And why did he bring it up now? Jaune bit his lip, and Ruby realized she wasn't the only one using their sessions to take their mind off things. 

"I'm fine Jaune. Thanks for asking, but I'm fine." Jaune crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow at her. Ruby suppressed a wave of irritation, why wouldn't he just trust her and let it drop?

"You aren't Ruby. Others have noticed too." Jaune paused as a pair of huntsmen walked by, training swords in hand, chatting in the faint torchglow of Beacon's courtyard. "I want to help, we all do. You don't have to deal with this on your own, you shouldn't have to. Knowing your sister is....."

"She isn't my sister." Ruby growled, anger welling up inside her. How could Jaune think that monster was Yang? Yang left her when she was young, and died somewhere deep in that witcher castle. "She's a monster, subhuman, an abomination, a demon." Her demon. 

Jaune pursed his lips and shook his head slowly, "I don't entirely agree." Ruby looked at Jaune with a mixture of disbelief and shock, where was this coming from? Ruby tightened her grip on Crescent Rose, frustrated that Jaune couldn't understand just how different 'Yang' had become. 

"How can you think that? You were at Kaer Morhen, you saw the carnage, the bloodshed. They fought more like Grimm then like humans." Ruby's hands started to shake as she remembered the siege. The air had been filled with smoke, dust, and sulfur as bombs and rocks exploded into fragments all around her, the constant cacophony of screams echoing in the courtyard. Atlas soldiers, huntsmen, and huntresses lying in pools of their own blood, as mages warred around the carnage, plumes of flame and lances of light detonating in the air and on the ramparts all around Ruby as she charged alongside Weiss. How the witchers gracefully danced through the courtyard, blades coated in blood. Ruby saw a steel blade driven through Fox's stomach, the witcher behind it meeting her eyes from over her dying friend's shoulder. They had remained emotionless as he withdrew his sword, leaving Fox to collapse into a pool of his own blood, silent even in death. It was him, the one who took Yang... "They didn't show anything, even as their own were dying around them. How can something like that be human, or my sister?" 

Jaune was silent, but Ruby's memories didn't stop. "I saw one Jaune. I recognized him from the farm, all those years ago..." Ruby clenched her fists. A witcher with black hair and yellow eyes sank to his knees as she twisted Crescent Rose from where it was driven into his stomach. He didn't show pain, or fear as Ruby forced the blade of her scythe deeper into his stomach. Instead he drew a bomb casing from his belt as Ruby's eyes widened. Her semblance saved her, but not the three Vale swordsman nearby. "Even in all that carnage, he recognized me. Targeted me." Crescent Rose lying too far away to reach, shards of a witcher shattered golem embedded deep inside her stomach. One hand was pressed tightly against her armor, the warm blood pooling around her, her blood. Her breath was loud, too loud. The sounds of blades clashing and screams fading into the background. Ruby weakly reaching for Crescent Rose while watching the witcher walk towards her, blade glowing a menacing red in the smoke filled air. 

"You didn't see his eyes like I did." Ruby looked down at her hands, and took a hasty breath. She had looked up in fear as Yang's murderer raised his sword, then a huntsman was there, glaive twirling to force him back. Ruby coughed up a little blood as she felt herself going cold. Suddenly, Weiss was there, and Ruby could feel her wounds bleeding stop. "To see Yang as one of those things, it's wrong. She still looks like Yang, walks like Yang, talks like Yang, but that only makes it worse. We used to play together in the barn, and she would smile, laugh, live. She was alive, and my big sister. After Kaer Morhen, I don't know what she is anymore..." 

Jaune stepped forward and hugged her before Ruby could react, but she relented and wrapped her arms around him as he whispered in her ear. "I can't imagine what you're going through, but I'm here. I won't watch this eat you alive without saying anything." 

Ruby closed her eyes, and saw her sister lunging towards her with her sword, eyes blazing. "I can't forgive her, not after what she's done." Ruby couldn't forgive Yang for Neillen, Marcus, and the other friends she murdered. 

"I'm not asking you to." Jaune stepped away, before looking her in the eye. His blue eyes were resolved. "I'm asking you to forgive yourself." Ruby clenched her fist and looked away. How could he ask that?

Ruby unclenched her fist, but she still couldn't look Jaune in the eye. "We promised we'd look out for each other. Her and I, together through it all." Ruby couldn't help it, she snorted at the naivety of youth. Despite all her promises, what had she been able to do when the witcher came? "I wasn't there for her."

Jaune leaned to one side, "She was there for you, protecting her younger sister. You were young, there was nothing you could've done. Don't punish yourself over the past." 

Ruby shivered, the fleeting memory of Yang pulling her into her final embrace back in patch. "I should have taken her place." Jaune shook his head and snorted. 

"Listen to yourself Ruby. That wouldn't have helped, it would just mean that she might be standing here instead of you. How would that help anything?" Jaune crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

"It would mean she got to live," Ruby whispered, "Experience life, get to meet a knight like she wanted, become a blacksmith..." Ruby closed her eyes and breathed in.

"She got none of that." Ruby spat. "Her life was stolen, destroyed, used as the catalyst to forge a killing machine destined to prowl the earth hunting monsters for gold. That's the worst part to me, that they're like shades, asking for gold and wealth even though they only use it to keep killing. No dreams, no aspirations, no future, their pasts a nightmare. They can only kill until they're killed." 

Jaune's eyes softened, and he set one hand on his swords hilt, the other on Ruby's shoulder. "I'm not saying it was right, because it is as far from right as you can get. I just want you to stop your endless quest for penance. Kaer Morhen burned, the school is dead. You got justice, so now let yourself get peace."

Ruby recalled the two witchers she had seen entering the inn back after the siege, their movements graceful and catlike,"Kaer Morhen got what it deserved, but there are other schools, other witchers." 

"Ruby, those are fights for other days. Ozpin knows the threat they pose, he'll do what's needed." Jaune said

Weariness flooded over Ruby, the thought of the path ahead. It would be difficult, but she could suffer any tribulation in her sister's memory. "Which is why I can't just let this go Jaune. I've got to keep pushing myself harder, until every last remnant of those awful crimes is buried." 

"Okay." 

Ruby looked up in surprise, "Okay?" 

Jaune smiled, his face relaxed in the moonlight, "If that's what you need, then I'll stand beside you. I know Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, and Weiss will too." Ruby smiled in gratitude, there was nothing better in the world than steadfast friends. 

"Thanks Jaune."

"Ruby," Jaune's eyes returned to the concerned look of earlier. "Just promise me you'll go see her, put any lingering demons to rest." 

Ruby blinked, then smiled. "Okay." Jaune returned her smile, and turned towards the barracks. 

Ruby followed, spinning Crescent Rose around her with one hand, its blade glowing in the moonlight. It was captivating, and Ruby always found it helped her collect her thoughts. Facing Yang would be difficult, and she wasn't sure how she would react to seeing her bleeding and scarred. She followed Jaune into the barracks, quietly slipping past the sleeping forms of the huntresses and huntsmen that slumbered peacefully. Too many beds were empty, some had belonged to old friends. As Ruby stood over the neatly folded bed that had once belonged to Neillen, she resolved that she wouldn't let her friend's deaths go unavenged. 

The memory of Yang's smile the first time she came back from the market festival with dad leapt into Ruby's mind. Her smile was so innocent, purple eyes gleeful as she swaggered up to Ruby and presented a small bow. Ruby shook her head softly, she wouldn't let Yang go unavenged either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to walk the line between angst and tragedy with this story, and its my first attempt at doing so. I'd appreciate it if you could tell me if I'm fucking up Ruby/Yang's complicated relationship or not. 
> 
> Its hard to write a character with an obviously flawed belief, make it emotionally believable, and use that to create believable and compelling motivations and actions, and I feel out of my depth. Advice appreciated/needed. 
> 
> Advice about Yang's new torment, even though it hasn't been fully realized yet, is also appreciated. Thought I would explore more of Emerald's potiental this time. 
> 
> Yang isn't going to be captured forever, if you are worried about stagnation. I give it 2, maybe 3 chapters more at most. I just don't want to rush it and ruin the buildup and payoff. Thanks so much for reading, I love you all <3!


	10. Demonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake goes demon hunting in order to gain support for her plan to rescue Yang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SORRY. I took a haitus over the holidays to be with family, and then it just took a while after to write this all out. I hope I didn't lose to many of you, and I want to make one thing clear.
> 
> I will post and say if I decide to discontinue this due to a crisis or something, but I pray that I never will be forced to, this is my baby. If there isn't a massive green check or a Chapter: I'm stopping this work, then life is just being a bitch and please be patient and work with me. 
> 
> With that said, I'm back and hopefully with a bang. Enjoy, love the support and criticisms, keep them coming!

_______________________________________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Vale forests, 4 hours later....)

Their party moved quietly through the trees, black cloaks blending in to the shadows cast by the forest canopy. Adam trotted alongside the faunus Blake had come to think of as The Lieutenant, who had neglected to share her name since their encounter. She had opted to remain silent, leading their party through the trees without so much as a backward glance. 

The air had grown progressively colder over the hours as the forest grew denser and the canopy overhead thickened and blotted out what remained of the setting sun. Blake glanced towards the east, where Neo was hopefully making steady progress towards Raven, half the diagrams nestled in Silence's saddlebags. Raven would be expecting her back two days from now, and would hopefully be willing to wait a few more days. Demons were always tricky to handle, as usually it was a specter of some kind, the options were numerous and she couldn't trust the local diagnosis. 

It was another hour at least before the forest slowly gave way to the mountain, and the entrance to an old fort loomed ahead of them. Blake's eyes scanned the battlements, Reia's basic lesson on castles coming to mind. Witchers didn't work in armies, but their clients often included minor lordlings that had carved out a minor hold and didn't want to bother with pest control themselves. Reia told them in their only lesson that if you could read the castle, you could read the client. Blake concentrated, she didn't remember much, but she wanted to know what she was walking into. A witcher had to be ready to fight out of anywhere they walked into. 

Two stone towers stood draped in moss, two archers standing sentinel in each tower. The stone walls were old and worn, but the metal gate was new, obviously forged after the fort was built, likely by Blake's companions. The first thing she noticed about the courtyard was how crowded it was. Several different wagons were being unloaded and loaded with various crates by faunus in the same outfits as her escorts. Even odder was the line of farmers along one side of the courtyard, being filed into a hallway leading deeper into the mountain by a few men. They weren't bound, likely recruits or petitioners. 

"A lot of foot traffic for a extremist group." Blake said, dismounting Adam with the rest of her escort. 

"A lot of disillusioned people out there." The Lieutenant's tone is equally dry, and she brushed past Blake and towards the main tunnel without another word. 

The stone tunnel lead deep into the mountain, branching rooms everywhere. Blake ears twitched as she heard various swords clashing from further ahead. More faunus passed them as they continued deeper into the fortress, each preoccupied with their own mission. Nothing so far seemed amiss, so the demon she was dealing with was localized and not a broader haunting. The air grew still and dry the further down they continued, and Blake grew more impressed with the sheer size of the operation. 

She saw alchemy labs, triage areas, sparring rooms, dormitories, armories, smithies, storage rooms, map rooms, archery ranges, a chapel or two, and a bathhouse in the open doorways of the tunnels. Most of the rooms were surrounded by the same faded stone as the fortress outside, but as the Lieutenant lead her farther down the stone grew more natural, with pickaxe marks growing more visible as time wore on. The rooms doorways became more rounded, perhaps to save time. 

"This is quite the industrious operation." The Lieutenant didn't look back at Blake, but continued further onward, her red accents glowing faintly in the subterranean gloom. 

"Our chapter leader has vision, which is why you must not fail." Blake didn't comment, she couldn't fail because Yang needed her, and these extremists were well armed, well equipped, and organized. All things she would need when she went to rescue Yang. 

Blake couldn't help but remember the last time she had been with Yang, on the path back to Kaer Morhen. How close she'd been, their shoulders had practically been touching that night. How Yang's eyes had burned that deep crimson when she helped Blake defend against those bandits, turning back to the familiar and comforting purple. Blake had wanted to reach out and hug Yang that night underneath the tree, to let her know that she had missed her so much. Blake had managed to restrain herself, Yang knew Blake missed her, they had been friends since birth. 

"When you enter, please be polite but direct. We have no time to waste." The Lieutenant's words jolted Blake out of her daydream. 

She stood before a solid metal door, flanked by 4 guards. Each guard wore armor with the same red accents that the Lieutenant possessed, full facial masks hiding their expressions behind a grim visage of a silver tiger. Their halberds stood upright, and Blake noticed the short sword on each one's belt. They were obviously the elite, and Blake would have to be careful, their short swords and superior numbers would be problematic in such a tight space if the worst came to pass. If the chapter leader was really possessed by a spirit, it might order the guards to attack mid exorcism. 

The Lieutenant opened the door, and Blake walked in, careful to studiously ignore the guards. She had no illusions, they had been sizing up how difficult it would be to kill her just as she was doing the same to them. The room she entered was large, and devoid of the moss that clung to large parts of the halls in the fortress. Torches illuminated most of the room, barely any shadows were visible. Oddly excessive, but some leaders were. A table stood in the middle of the room, a detailed map of The Northern Kingdoms sprawled out across it, various pins and markers scattered around. Blake frowned when she noticed a cluster of markers around Kaer Morhen and the Blue Mountains. 

A stone desk sat in the corner of the room, with scrolls piled high atop it. Bookcases stood along the back wall, a lone door leading into what Blake presumed was a bedroom in between them. A lone woman was bent over the map, deep in concentration. Her long dress was white, with black arm wraps and a purple band tied across her left fore-arm. Blake noticed that her ring finger was missing on the left hand, the cut jagged and uneven. She was dealing with a combat veteran, which could either be a help or a hinderance. Two faunus cat ears twitched as the Lieutenant cleared her throat, two piercings on her right ear and one on the left, each sparkling in the torchlight. Her amber faunus eyes looked up to glare at the Lieutenant in irritation, before turning to Blake with an appraising look. 

"Sienna, what is the meaning of this interruption?" Her voice was even, but Blake didn't mistake the warning tone in it. 

Sienna bowed her head briefly before nodded to Blake, "Executus, I brought this wolf here to help you, I believe she is what you need." 

The Executus leaned off of her map table and crossed her arms, ears straight up in interest now. "Interesting, tell me witcher what exactly you think you can offer to the White Fang."

Blake chose her next words carefully. She had been under the impression the Executus had known about the deal and agreed to offer her troops in exchange for an exorcism. If she didn't know, then Blake's life just got harder. Suppressing a scowl, Blake spoke, "I was under the impression that you required me to exorcise a demon from you, and that my payment was already agreed upon."

The Executus paused for a few moments, digesting Blake's statement. Blake felt the room grow darker, and her medallion shifted a centimeter to the left before returning to the center of her breast. Sienna stood silent, and the tension was palpable between them as the Executus turned to face Blake. Her face was calm, but Blake heard her heartbeat, it was fast and erratic as a drop of sweat formed on her upper forehead. 

"You've been misinformed. My captain has overstepped her authority and her place." Sienna's fists tensed for a second before relaxing again, her face stayed completely neutral.

"With all due respect Executus, but if Sienna is willing and able to pay me to exorcise you it is a valid contract." Blake inclined her head, and the Executus smiled at her. 

"Of course Master Witcher, but that is exactly the issue. Whatever payment agreed upon between you two has to be approved by me." The Executus glared again at Sienna, who stood silently. "I am not willing to pay whatever massive fee would be justly demanded for slaying a demon when the simple fact is I am not possessed."

Sienna gritted her teeth and shook her head, "That isn't true. You are possessed, I'm certain of it."

The Executus picked up a paper and began scanning through it, "Tell us then, Captain, what evidence you have that I am possessed? We do have a professional present, who might be willing to offer her opinion?" She looked up to Blake, who nodded assent. 

She pondered for a moment. If the Executus truly wasn't possessed then she wouldn't even consider the idea of helping Blake rescue Yang. Blake couldn't fake a demon possession either, witchers weren't stage actors, and it would be nigh impossible to fake the damage a real witcher exorcism would cause. She would just have to give her an honest evaluation, and pray to whatever gods were listening to grant her a demon. 

"Tell me everything you think is a sign of possession. Leave nothing out, often times dealing with monsters, especially demons, requires lots of details." Blake said, leaning against the front wall and crossing her arms. 

"I noticed it began several years ago, when you stopped sleeping soundly. The guards kept reporting that you were screaming in your sleep." Sienna's ears flattened slightly in concern, and she took one step towards Blake. 

The Executus frowned, "Nightmares aren't signs of a possession."

Blake pursed her lips in thought, and Sienna continued. "Maybe, but that isn't all and you know it." She turned and addressed Blake. "In the last few months my men have caught her talking to unknown people in the middle of the night. Each time the room is completely empty, save her. We've tried switching rooms, posting guards in every hall, nobody enters or leaves. Yet she continues to talk to something." 

The Executus's scowl grew deeper, and her hands clenched into fists. Blake felt her medallion twitch almost imperceptibly, so little she wasn't sure if it was simply reacting to Sienna's dust infusions. She needed to go deeper, but doing that without getting thrown out might prove interesting. 

"You said she was talking..." Blake began, "what about, and to whom?" 

"We don't know. Guardsman Reeves claimed he heard something about forgiveness, but we've been unable to get any official confirmation from anyone else." Sienna glared at The Executus, who stood impassively on the other side of the table. 

"I was talking to myself, it helped to collect my thoughts late at night." 

"Kali, I've heard you on multiple nights. It wasn't coherent thoughts or planning, it sounded like chanting." Sienna glanced towards Blake, "I should add that this started on the 20th anniversary of her husband's death. I fear her husband has grown vengeful..." 

"You would dare accuse Ghira of haunting me?" Kali's hand was in the air before the sentence finished.

Blake chose not to react, instead she set to casting her senses around her. Something was wrong, and she needed to be on alert to find out what. With Kali's intense reactions it was likely whatever was haunting her might show itself, and Blake needed to be absolutely sure before she continued to press Kali or Sienna for payment. 

Sienna caught Kali's hand with her own, and her other hand reached to her belt and drew out one of her daggers. It flickered green and red as the runes on the blade shimmered in the torchlight, casting an ominous glow on Sienna's face. Gambol sang as it cleared Blake's sheath and pressed itself against Sienna's neck, her throat tightening as it felt cold steel against it. Her hand paused, dagger halfway out of its sheath and Kali's hand still trapped in her other hand's grip. 

"I'm not going to hurt her, damnit. I'm trying to help her." Sienna said, forcing every word through her clenched teeth with effort. 

"Then move slowly, because I won't." Blake whispered, hand tightening on Gambol's hilt.

"Sienna, what do you think you are doing?" Kali struggled to break out of her grip, her voice low and dangerous. 

"Helping you." Her dagger moved surely and cut the armbands away with swift precision, exposing the bare arms underneath.

Kali's arms were laced with scars, but they weren't inflicted in battle or torture. It was obvious to Blake these were self inflicted, the cuts narrow, shallow, and evenly spaced along both arms. Blake lowered Gambol from Sienna's throat, before sheathing the blade over her back. Kali's heart was thudding in her chest, and her eyes had dilated. She was panicking, her arms trembling as she stared down at her cuts. Sienna sheathed her dagger and walked over to Kali. 

"This isn't you. Can't you see that?" Kali shook her head slowly as Sienna took her hands into her own. "I don't care what voice you think you hear, Ghira would never ask this from you. Please just let the witcher do her work." Her voice had gone from confident and assertive to low and pleading. Both Sienna and Kali's ears were flat from different kinds of pain, eyes staring into each other like Blake wasn't even there anymore. 

"You're wrong." Kali whispered into Sienna's ear, before pulling away. "Ghira and I were a part of each other, soulmates. We trusted one another, cared for one another. I failed that trust."

"That doesn't mean you should crucify yourself!" Sienna said, sheathing her dagger. She stepped forward and gestured to the table. "Honor Ghira through this, not." She pointed to the scars canvasing Kali's arms, a grotesque quilt of pain and skin. "That. Nobody humane would want that, especially a faunus like him."

"I am." 

Kali glanced at a spot over Blake's head. She turned to see a massive painting of two faunus intertwined in the middle of a clearing, both in wedding attire. The faunus on the left, who Blake recognized as Kali was wearing a white dress with an ornate pattern of fall color leaves. Her eyes radiated happiness as she leaned in to kiss another faunus who dominated the painting. A massive faunus, he stood over Kali by several feet. His rich purple cloak seemed to encompass Kali as he leaned in to kiss her, his long black beard unable to mask happiness in his face. His gaze was mesmerizing, even in the painting. Blake felt a pang in her chest as she stared at the painting, but she couldn't pinpoint what caused the reaction. 

Kali looked back at the table map, tapping a castle figure in the Vale region with one finger. "It doesn't look like it to me Kali." Sienna whispered. "At least let the witcher examine you."

"It won't help. There is no demon. If you do find anything at all," Kali raised her head and met Blake's eyes with her own. "it will be Ghira, not a demon."

"Executus..." Blake began,

"Please, this is already become personal enough." Blake didn't miss the faint undertone of annoyance in her voice, nor the fraction of a glance towards Sienna. "Call me Kali."

"Kali, witchers have dealt with many different kinds of spirits before. While very, very rare, it is possible for benign spirits to 'haunt' someone. Our methods are tailored to malevolent presences, if Ghira is there he won't be harmed." Blake said, watching the relief flood over Kali's face, which told her everything she needed to know. 

It was all horseshit of course. Benign spirits didn't exist, not in the way Kali was hoping for. No friend or spouse could escape the inevitable fate that awaited them all so unscathed, unharmed. If Ghira somehow was haunting Kali, he was probably so twisted by the effort and the impact of such an event that Kali wouldn't recognize him, or at least shouldn't. Blake just needed to get Kali to agree to join her for the exorcism, her knowing cooperation while preferred, wasn't needed. 

As long as Blake got her army's support to rescue Yang, she didn't care. If that took tricking a widow into getting an exorcism for her own good whether or not she wanted it, well she would take a black conscience and Yang over a guilt free and Yangless life. Witchers were accustomed to dealing with dense, annoying, hindering, or unwilling clients at time. Yang had once said she wanted to throttle every single 'expert' on spiritual worlds and specters, because the speeches and pamphlets they spread caused nothing but trouble for actual experts who then had to defend themselves to every peasant who had talked to some greedy hedgewitch with a magic lamp and a globe.

"Okay, if that's the case I'll be glad to get my name cleared. If that what it takes to convince some of my more zealous comrades." Sienna didn't flinch as Kali shook her head in her direction. 

"Before we go any further..." Blake started, but Kali raised a hand. 

"Yes, your pay. Witcher's don't work for free. I'll not deny someone an honest wage, so what were you promised? We can negotiate from there." Kali crossed her arms in front of Blake, her posture loose and relaxed. 

Blake sighed, she had learned to read clients and could tell Kali was the type that while fair, would probably haggle like a fishwife for the 'fairest' price. That was an issue because even Blake had to admit to herself she was asking for a very one-sided trade. Sienna held her breath, Blake could hear her heartbeat increase a fraction from across the room, and her eyes started scanning between them at an very accelerated pace as Blake opened her mouth to speak. 

"I was promised military aid in exchange for this." Blake said, ears folding over the tiniest fraction in anticipation of Kali's response.

Talon had been in charge of their two bartering lessons, and he had hammered in the lesson to remain unattached to the outcome. A witcher that loses their logic in favor of emotion or greed is going to get screwed over, repeatedly. Distance is key, he had said. Blake tried to stay detached, but failed. This wasn't some ordinary go slaughter everything in that direction contract, her friend's fate could very well hang in the balance. Her heart-rate increased as Kali mulled the statement over, obviously not expecting to start with such a demand. That was a plus, it might throw her off balance enough for Blake to press her into the original deal. 

"Define military aid for me." Kali's voice had lost the subtle warmth of before, going completely cold as her eyes appraised Blake in a new light. Blake could see her replaying their entire conversation in her mind, viewing it from a new angle. 

There was no way to sugarcoat this, so Blake just said it. "Helping in a joint military effort to break a friend of mine out of a presumably heavily guarded location that has yet to be located." Kali leaned to one side, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. 

"That's a big demand." 

"Demons aren't small matters." Blake had one hope in this situation, to use her credibility as an expert monster hunter to up the value of what she was offering. 

It didn't matter that she could die easily, witcher's faced death every contract. Perfection was demanded in many cases for as few as 50 crowns, but that was the job. Blake had long ago stopped trying to count the amount of times she had been inches from death, it was just a part of life. She doubted Kali would care about that either, the lives of the men in her command were infinitely more important to her than one itinerant monster hunter and her best friend. 

"Neither is a siege, which is probably what we are looking at. Hypothetically if I did agree to this, you are going to have me send an army to assault one of the most heavily defended castles on this continent. That alone is going to kill hundreds, let alone the fallout that comes from the White Fang having carried out the assault. The faunus lynch mobs will form 4 kingdoms away, killing thousands more innocent villagers. Likely ruining a few harvests, and starving many more." Kali sighed, and frowned at Blake. "I can't accept that." 

Blake breathed in slowly, trying hard to come up with a response to an extremely pragmatic argument. "What if the White Fang wasn't responsible in the eyes of the public?" 

Kali paused for a second, and shook her head again. "You are still asking me to have faunus who put their trust in me to ask them to die needlessly, just for my benefit. I can't ask that of them." 

"Yet how can you ask them to follow you when you are obviously being torn apart?" Sienna said, much to Blake's surprise.

Kali frowned and sighed, leaning against the table as the torchlight reflected from her eyes. Blake could see the fatigue, the stress in them. "I'm not asking them to. If I become unfit for my position, I will abdicate it." 

"That isn't the point. They chose to follow you, ensuring you are at your best will save more lives than it will cost. Honor their trust." Sienna said

"Sending them to their deaths wouldn't be honoring their trust, it would be betraying it." Kali glanced at the portrait for a fraction of a second. "I won't betray someone's trust like that again."

"What if they were volunteers?" Sienna's asked, head cocked to one side.

Kali blinked, and bit her lower lip. Blake held her breath, hoping that she would at least give some ground. "None of my men are that senseless." The words sounded hollow even as she said them. 

"Maybe not some of your men, but one of your captains is." A sly grin, bittersweet and defiant even as Kali raised her head with a frustrated frown. 

"You know I won't allow you to do that." She said, spacing every word out. 

Sienna remained unabashed, and shrugged. "Hard to hang a corpse for desertion." 

"It is pretty easy to detain a captain for a few hours." Kali said, ears drooping slightly inward. 

"Not without reason, after all we're only talking about hypotheticals." Sienna raised an eyebrow at Kali, who shook her head and gave a defeated sigh.

"Of course, only hypotheticals." Kali tapped a finger on the table, and looked up to Blake. She kept her face neutral as the anticipation coiled itself around her chest, tightening as Kali opened her mouth. "Very well. Master Witcher, what do you need to examine me? If something is found, we can finish discussing payment." 

Blake glanced at the torches around the office, then shook her head. It wouldn't work, it was too obvious. "When you dream, where do you go?" 

Sienna gave her a look like she'd gone mad, but she remained silent. Blake was glad, explaining every intricacy of something that was half science and half guess and pray you don't end up a bloody puddle by the next day was aggravating. Witchers and scholars associated with the various schools had collected a rather staggering amount of information on all the foul misshapen horrors that crawled out of the conjunction of spheres, but it was never enough. Monsters were always fickle, and required absolute caution, and a lot of intuition. 

Kali closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, perhaps steeling herself. "Do you wish to visit there?" Blake nodded assent, and Kali walked to the door. She paused at the threshold, as if gathering the strength to continue onward. 

Sienna followed her out, and Blake closed the door behind them. Kali didn't take them deeper into the fortress, where Blake would have expected. Instead they moved closer to the exit, the stone corridors mossy walls growing heavier and heavier as they did so. Every White Fang member they passed paused to bow to Kali, who paid them little heed. Her stride was heavy, neighboring on limping, it was as if every step towards their destination was a burden, a curse. 

The foot traffic fell off as they continued further down a new offshoot of corridors, the cobwebs and cracks in the stone growing more pervasive. The air itself grew dusty and stale, as if not even the wind dared to intrude on whatever stillness had claimed the space. Even as the number of White Fang members passing dropped, Kali's heartbeat skyrocketed. Blake could hear it even from several paces behind her, over the steady echo of their footfalls. 

Kali finally stopped in front of a massive stone door, appearing almost ghostlike with her white dress blending into the murky shadows cast by Sienna's torch. The door itself appeared ancient, silver lines swirled in complex patterns on each door, gently weaving through each other in a mesmerizing pattern that was barely diluted by the abundant dust coating everything. Heavy steel bolts lined the outer edges of the door, rusted and dirty with age. It was similar to the door to the amulet hall in Kaer Morhen. Blake wondered if every fortress had one. 

"What is this place?" Blake asked, fingering her bomb pouch. 

Kali tightened one hand, and pressed the other to the door. Her fingers traced the silver pattern for a time, confident yet hesitating. Her breathing became slow and ragged, and her shoulders drooped. "The site of my greatest failure." 

She heaved forward, and the doors protested mightily as their rusted hinges once more swung inward. Blake's nose was assailed with the scent of mold and dust, as the dark room beyond came into view. It was clear that nobody had entered in years, if not longer. Sienna pushed on ahead with Kali, both faunus's ears pressed flat in trepidation. 

The hall was massive, with stone pillars lined up on either side. Faded and torn banners hung from each stone pillar, the white background stained by dust and mold, the red wolf's head faded and tarnished by age. The floor was granite, diamond patterns carved painstakingly into the floor. It was obvious that this was a room of some importance to the ancient elves who inhabited the fortress. Blake walked forward and knelt by the door, sniffing softly. The faintest trace of blood was still in the air, after so many years. The dried crimson pool on the floor hadn't been moved or disturbed in years, judging by the stillness of the surface.

"How long has it been since someone was in here?" Blake asked, returning to Kali's side as she walked towards the center of the hall. 

"21 years, 4 months, 11 days." She whispered, stopping in front of the centerpiece of the room. 

It was a blade, driven deep into the stone. Its blade was still a deep red, the dust infusions along the flats of the blade still flickering weakly with some malice, pulsating where the dried blood was splattered along its length. The hilt was a dark black, fashioned out of black iron. It was a long blade, obviously forged by someone who preferred singular, heavy strikes to that of a more traditional blade. A small facial mask rested on the hilt of the sword, its design similar to that of Raven's tribe. Blake wondered if Raven had tried to stage a coup at some point here. 

"Who was he?" Blake asked, her voice not raising above a whisper. The hall's entire presence seemed to force silence, pressing in on everyone's chest.

"A fanatic. He came in from somewhere in Korvir, wanting to join the White Fang. My husband took him in, and his determination and limited charisma saw him reach a command position in three years." Kali whispered, running a finger along the mask, tracing the deep gouge where something had dug in. Blake judged by the length and width of the cut it was a claw of some kind.

"He wasn't content with his position." Sienna added. Blake had seen this tale unfold many times, in bandit tribes, in books, in history. 

"No, he wasn't content with the extremes we went to. He wanted more, so he requested a private meeting with my husband and..." Kali trailed off, unable to continue 

"Killed him." Blake finished, seeing another piece fall into place. Everything was making more sense now...

"Yes, because I wasn't there. Ghira turned his back for a second, and I wasn't there to protect him..." Kali wiped a lone tear away, before turning towards Blake. Her face was hard, but she could see how her cheeks were flushed with emotion.

"Lets just...get this over with." Kali said, and Blake shook her head.

"Witchers need to be promised payment, to take a contract." It was a low blow, but Blake had been scammed by a sob story once. It had ended with a lack of coin in her pocket and a shiv in her liver.

Sienna nodded, and Kali sighed reluctantly. "I grow tired of this, I have a final offer for you. If you are so hellbent on rescuing your friend, I am willing to offer you safehaven here. If you manage to succeed, you'll have huntsmen and huntress on your heels, and I doubt your friend will be able to ride hard enough to make it to safety in her condition. I won't go any further, especially with my people at risk enough as it is." 

Blake considered her offer. It wasn't horrible, the fortress was well staffed, well armed, and hidden deep in the reaches of Vale's forests. If Blake got to Yang, she wasn't sure what condition she would find her in. Honestly, it wasn't a train of thought she wanted to explore. It was easier to imagine Yang as she was, confident, witty, determined even when facing down spriggans or griffins. Kaer Morhen would be the first place they would be expected to flee too, which probably meant they would need somewhere else. If the White Fang didn't participate in the raid itself, it would also mean that their pursuers would be less likely to cut them off or find them here. 

Blake inhaled and nodded, extending her hand to Kali. "Fine. You have a deal. Now to draw out your demon." 

Sienna relaxed visibly beside Kali, who raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so confident I'm haunted without your examination." 

Blake gave the Executus a sly grin, "I am examining you. Sienna, tell the men to gather a few torches. Make sure they know our lives depend on it." 

Sienna's ears went rigid at the statement, but she acted like any soldier should. Blake watched as she spun and sprinted towards the door without delay, her footfalls themselves barely echoing across the chamber. The very air seemed hostile to every trace of them, even sound wasn't exempt. Blake's heartbeat quickened a fraction, and she took a deep breath. Witcher exorcisms required a sound mind, and steady hand. Blake reached down into her belt with one hand, drawing out the small vial of Specter oil she had kept on hand for this very purpose. Once Sienna had said demon, Blake had made sure to keep her toolkit for specters and such filth on hand. She drew Shroud and got to work.

Kali's ears were almost pressed against her scalp, but they somehow went down even further as a rusted torch holder fell from the wall. "Mind explaining your examination, witcher? If you need light, we can just..."

Shroud gleamed softly even in the oppressive darkness, and Blake didn't look up to Kali as she began to delicately apply the oil to the blade. "Listen carefully, both of our lives depend on it. If I'm right, a hym will show up within minutes. It'll be enraged, and want to kill me to defend its lair, and its host. I need you to stay in the light, and try to resist the voices in your head while I fight." 

Kali's eyes darted around the room, scanning the shadows and inclines as if expecting something to leap forward from them. Blake knelt to the floor and kept gently pouring the oil over the blade. She was careful to keep her breathing slow and normal, showing any signs of panic would not only hinder her concentration in the fight to come, it might make Kali react excessively. She needed Kali calm and stable, or they were both going to die here. 

"You said it was a hym, what does that mean." Kali's voice was trying to stay calm, but Blake could she the minor twitching in her hands. 

"A hym is a particularly nasty spirit. It's the voice you keep hearing. The one that made you cut off your finger, made you cut yourself." 

Kali's hands went to her arms, "How did you...?" 

"Doesn't matter, all that matters is that if I don't end it here you will eventually be forced to suicide. It feeds on your guilt over Ghira and your suffering, and it won't stop." Blake gently placed the vial in her belt, and fastened the pouch shut. The door behind her heaved open again, and she heard several pairs of footsteps enter the room. 

"Witcher, I gathered all the torchs I could, and a few guards to assist you." Sienna's voice was calm, even in the midst of the crisis. The guards all held the same tone as they called order to each other, obviously they were veteran campaigners. 

Blake rose to her feet, and faced them. "Scatter the torches across the floor, now! Then get your men out of here." 

Sienna's men acted fast, which is probably what saved most of their lives. Each threw both of their torches further down the room, each flame casting shadows across the walls as they sailed towards the ground. The room quickly became shrouded in the orange glow, and the shadows themselves danced with seeming malice. Kali did as she told and dashed towards the largest grouping of torches, drawing a small dagger from the folds of her dress. Sienna followed after her, twin runed blades glowing as she sprinted towards Kali. 

"Help the witcher." She said, and the five guardsmen started towards Blake. 

"No, get to safety." Blake gritted her teeth in irritation, the last thing she needed was more people to worry about. It was more likely their weapons would do more damage to her than the hym, if they managed to use them at all. 

"But they can..." Sienna started, but then all hell broke loose. 

Blake saw a flash of movement next to the closest guardsmen, but before she could blink the hym's claws had severed the faunus's sword arm from his body. His face contorted in pain and shock as he fell to his knees, white cloak staining red as his own blood pooled at his knees, turning the floor crimson. The hym wasted no time, another blow sending the faunus flying into one of the stone pillars, which cracked with the collision. Blake could hear his spine cracking in multiple places as he crumpled. 

"You'll only get in the way." Blake said, shifting her weight and leveling Shroud towards the monster. 

Blake saw the other guardsmen finally take her advice and make for the same circle of light Kali and Sienna had taken refuge in out of the corner of her eye. She was more focused on the massive hym that had appeared from the shadows in front of her. It was well over 6 meters tall, its broad frame rippling as it writhed and twisted in the torchlight. Its head loomed over her, with what looked like some type of horns or mantle on top of its head. Its claws twitched as it surveyed the room, each claw was as long as Shroud. Blake inhaled as it settled on her, and lowered her stance. 

It made no sound, yet Blake could feel the rage rippling off it just as easily as the shadows did. She acutely felt the small weight of the moon dust bombs in her belt, something she would sorely need. The hym disappeared from in front of her, and Blake was already leaping to the side as it reappeared behind her, arm crashing down hard enough to crack the floor where she had been standing a moment before. She landed a foot away and counter attacked, Shroud slashing downward across its arm, the shadows hissing as they came into contact with the oil on the blade. The shadows seemed to cling to her blade for a moment as it cleared the hym, before fading into the gloom of the room as the hym screeched at last. 

"Like that?" Blake ducked as the other hand came at her from the side, slashing at the Hym's bent knee as she twirled behind it. 

Shroud opened 5 small cuts on its back before it could react, the shadows around the Hym's body growing more agitated by the oil on Shroud. Blake leapt backward, landing easily over one of the guard's torches. The hym itself disappeared, only to reappear mid strike at Blake's left side, arm thrusting forward toward's her abdomen. Blake side-stepped, and the hym dissolved into the shadows around her before Shroud could find its mark. She paused, slowing her breathing a fraction as she waited. The shadows shifted around the torch at her feet, and Blake caught minor glimpses of it at the edge of the torches surrounding hers. 

"Did you kill it?" One guard called, and Blake didn't answer. 

Blake leapt side-ways as the hym appeared on her right, slashing downward at her neck. Blake was ready, swinging Shroud high, cutting the hym's upper shoulder as her free hand pulled a Moon dust bomb from her pouch and threw. The hym staggered backwards, and disappeared as the bomb sailed harmlessly over where it had stood a moment before, crashing into a pillar and harmlessly detonating.

"Damn it." 

Blake slammed a palm into the ground and quickly traced the pattern for Yrden, the purple glyphs encircling her chosen torch and forcing the shadows to coalesce back into the hym. She twisted out of the way of one claw strike, striking hard and fast as she raced closer to the hym. Blake inhaled and whirled, Shroud a frenzy as it carved across the hym's chest in one of the complex patterns Vesemir taught them. She finished with a two handed thrust into its lower left knee, before rolling away from the hym's retaliatory strike. It howled in pain and agony, disappearing once Yrden expired. She circled her torch, Shroud steady in her hands. The Specter oil still gave the blade a sheen, and Blake an edge, though she wondered how much longer it would last. 

"Where are you..." Blake muttered, ears flat against her head as she scanned the flickering shadows along the walls. 

The room shook as the hym reappeared by the pillar closest to Blake and swung, its massive arm slamming through the stone pillar, sending debris and dust flying as the bottom collapsed. Blake's eyes widened as the pillar began to fall, plummeting straight towards her. Blake rolled to the side, casting Quen the second she was clear. The yellow shield shimmered around her as the pillar crashed into the stone floor, sending debris everywhere. She could feel her stamina draining as chunks of rubble bounced off of her shield, and several torches were doused. Blake's eyes warily scanned the newfound darkness, the dust and rubble cutting her off from Kali and the others. 

"Get...out of my head!" Blake heard Kali's pained scream from ahead, along with what sounded like struggling. 

"Witcher, what do we do?" Sienna called over the rubble.

"Calm her or hold her down, stay in the..." Quen saved her life. 

The hym's blow slammed into her shield, shattering it with enough force to send Blake hurtling into one of the intact pillars. She felt one of her ribs crack, but she didn't let go of Shroud. Her chest hurt like someone had driven a flaming spear through it, but she could still fight. The hym swung again, trying to finish her. Blake tightened her grip on Shroud and cast Igni, the flames attaching themselves to the hym in small clusters. It screeched as the flame's light weakened and drove away part of its shadowy form, and Blake swung low. Shroud slashed hard across its lower foot, and Blake went higher. 

If Vesemir was a wizard with a blade, Blake was a surgeon. Shroud struck quickly and cleanly across the Hym's upper chest, Blake taking care to make sure the Hym had as many Specter Oil infested cuts as possible. The hym's claws plunged down at her head, but she side-stepped in time. Blake felt the shadow's brush past her, mingling with her own for the briefest of seconds before plunging into the tile and shattering it. She spun and brought Shroud down with both hands, the blade biting deep into its arm, scattered the shadowy vapor that surrounded the hym. 

"Aaagghhhh," Kali and the hym both screamed in agony. 

"Damnit, somebody hold her down." Sienna's voice was authoritative, but strained. It sounded like she was wrestling with something. 

"Sorry." Blake whispered as she took one hand off Shroud and thrust it upward, fingers dancing. 

The hym reeled backwards as flames burst from her palm in a stream, scorching it. The flames licked at it as it staggered again. Blake broke off the stream and drew another moon dust bomb, throwing it at the floor near its feet this time. The hym was too distracted by the flames to dodge, and the silver coated it as the bomb exploded at its feet. Blake rolled forward, under another slash by the hym's massive claws, and sprang to her feet with a flurry of quick cuts at its lower body. 

She spun away from another slash, and crouched to the floor, tracing Yrden's sign against the tile. A familiar purple glow permeated the darkness and dust filled air as the hym's slash slowed down. Blake dodged, and went in hard. With the hym still aflame, coated in silver, and slowed down it would be her best opportunity to put it down before it tried anything else. It seemed to realize this, as both arms entered a frenzy, slashing and striking at Blake as she wove between them. Shroud struck with purpose, and Blake could feel the shadow's resistance to her strikes fading as the hym lost vitality. 

"Is she having a seizure?" Blake recognized a guardsman's voice as she cleaved down on the hym's shoulder. 

"Witcher, we're having difficulties..." Sienna called from over the pile of rubble, and Blake scowled as she went in again. 

She ducked under another strike, and cast Igni. The bright flames sent the hym to one knee, its head still facing Blake. She could feel the malice, the eternal hatred and the promise of suffering and death in those eyes. Blake met its gaze as she drove Shroud deep into the hym's chest and twisted. The shadowy body of the hym seemed to shift and flow around the blade, both drawn into and running away from the Specter oil that was slowly poisoning and tormenting it. Slowly they dissipated into the gloom as the hym died, giving one last menacing growl to Blake. She stepped backwards, and slowly slid Shroud back into its sheath before pressing one hand to her ribs. It was broken, but with Swallow she would be able to safely ride tomorrow. Blake walked around the rubble of the pillar to find Kali screaming into a torn piece of a guardsman's clothing, while Sienna and the 4 guards pinned her to a pillar. 

"Damnit, hold her steady." Sienna grunted as she fought to keep an arm pinned against the pillar, a few torches piled at her feet. 

Kali was thrashing against them, her ears hidden completely in her hair as she struggled to break free. "Ghira, I'm sorry...I'm sorry." She fell limp against the pillar, head lolling to one side. 

Sienna stepped back, and stood their panting. Blake could see a few scratches and tears on her armor, and could smell faunus blood in the air. The guards didn't look to be in any better shape, each haggard and out of breath. Sienna turned as Blake walked up to them, and raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm not sure who had the harder fight, if appearances are any indication." Her tone was dry, but there was some relief underlying it all. 

"By the brother's bloody bollocks, you went through all of that." A scruffy horse faunus gestured towards the rubble behind Blake, "and came out looking like...that?" He made a general wave at her. 

"Its why they're called specialists, you tosser." Another guard spat at the dirt. 

"Or freaks." A rabbit faunus shook her head and glared at Blake, crossed her bleeding arms. 

Sienna glared at all three of them, and tapped her foot pointedly. "Take the Executus to the healer, and stop gossiping like fishwives unless you have something beneficial to say to the 'freak' who just saved your asses." 

A guardsman pressed a gold coin into Blake's palm before helping his fellows lift the unconscious Kali out of the room. Blake opened a swallow from her belt and took a small swig, just enough to get her body started. Potions were mainly to be used in life or death situations, a witcher's body did most of its long term healing after the fight was over. Sienna stepped forward to speak, but Blake raised a hand.

"Yes, its dead. No, you don't have to do anything or stay away from here or sniff holy water every fortnight to keep it away. Yes, I'm leaving and I wanted my pay. No, I'll be fine. Yes, Kali will be fine, just give her time." Blake raised an eyebrow at Sienna. "Anything else?" 

"Didn't peg you for sarcastic. I wanted to say thanks," Sienna's mouth curved into a small grin, "Smartass." 

Blake shrugged, "Sorry, usually I'm too tired after a fight to answer the entire village's questions, so I try to wrap it up quick."

"Understandable. I do have one thing I wanted to talk to you about though," 

Blake winced as she inhaled, her rib reminding her rudely that she was wounded. "Shoot." 

"You'll need a guide, we've rigged the forest with all sorts of surprises. I wanted to be that guide." Blake looked at Sienna in surprise.

"I thought you'd remain here while Kali recovered."

Sienna shook her head, "Commander Jusquar can handle that. I wanted to tag alone as a personal thanks," She glanced over her shoulder to where the guards had taken Kali. "For saving someone very dear to me." 

Blake raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "I'd be happy to have you, if you're good with a hard ride."

"With that cracked rib, I doubt it will be that hard of a ride." 

Blake thought of Yang, every second racked by some new insidious form of torture, or being dragged to the execution block right now. "I'll be damned if I let that slow me down."

Sienna nodded, and put a hand on Blake's shoulderpad. "You'll save your comrade, don't worry."

Blake shook her head and glanced down at her hands, "Yang isn't my comrade, she's my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter posed an interesting conundrum to me: the hym fight. Since I suck as a writer, I wasn't sure how to make a fight that consists of "duck. stab. duck. sign. stab" in game into something more engaging. I decided to sell my soul, so to speak. 
> 
> I want to write these fights as true to the witcher verse as possible, but I'm no expert and I also want to make these interesting, so I take a few liberates. That doesn't mean super oils or DBZ power levels, but I might exagerate a hym's ability to think, or etc. Hopefully everyone here is okay with that, if not, let me know cause all feedback is welcome.
> 
> That and killing Ghira, which was something I wasn't sure I wanted to do, but I want my background characters to have some depth, and I guess I took the cheap way out. Anyway, thanks for reading, tell me what you think, and I love the feedback!
> 
> Cheers!


	11. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake is forced to make a hard choice on her journey to save Yang, while Yang's torment reaches a crescendo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this, it is certainly one of my riskier chapters. More notes on that below, but thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this. You have no idea how much it means to be able to write for other people to enjoy and how awesome it is to hear feedback, negative or positive!

_______________________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Patch, 17 years post Kaer Morhen....)

Lydia marched through the crowded street, hoisting up her stuffed dragon doll like a conquerer brandishing the spoils of war. The dragon's green scales shimmered slightly in the afternoon sun. Yang smiled as Lydia pressed it close to her chest, and twirled around before stopping to admire a passing huntsmen, glancing at the massive battleaxe slung over his shoulder.

Yang pulled her out of the throng of traffic, to which Lydia protested. Blake chuckled as Yang was forced to dodge the dragon's "attack". Lydia grinned and her pet went in for another attack, but Yang raised her arms in mock defeat. 

"Alright, you win. I didn't realize you had a bodyguard." Yang said, "Though I don't know what mine was doing." She raised an eyebrow at Blake, who was flicking through a small leather bound book a foot away. 

"Tactically reading." Blake flipped the page as she brushed past Yang's mock charge. "You seemed to be getting along fine."

"No thanks to you. Well it's starting to get late. We should start back towards the house." Yang eyed the setting sun, dipping lower every hour. She gave it a little over an hour before it set, and she wanted to be behind four walls and a warm fire when it did. Her hand instinctively began to reach for where Cellica's hilt would be she felt painfully naked without it. 

Lydia stuck her tongue out and wrinkled her face up at Yang, holding her prize closer to her chest. "Do we have to? I wanted to see the play at the fair grounds." 

Yang couldn't help but grin, but she still shook her head and glanced back at Blake. Blake simply turned another page. "Don't look at me, I'm good parent this time. You get to be the bearer of bad news."

Yang paused long enough to give Blake the stink eye before picking up Lydia and setting her over her shoulders. "Come on, we've got a long walk home. I'm sure Blake would be happy to help me put on a little home performance." 

Lydia grinned, and hopped off of Yang's shoulders. Blake shut her book and raised an eyebrow at Yang, "As long as I'm not the bad guy this time."

"You make such a good bad guy though, its always hilarious to see you try and act tough." Lydia said as Yang suppressed a grin.

Blake didn't deign to give that a response, and instead began to weave through the fairgrounds towards the road home. Yang gave Lydia a little shove with her boot and followed, smiling at the sunset before her. She couldn't help but to wonder why she wasn't hearing any of the crows calling to each other, Patch was always invested with the damn things. 

_______________________________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Vale Forests, 4 days later....)

The air was thick with fog, it seemed to have taken refuge in every crevice. It had come in the day before, slowly at first. It now made it so even Blake's superior eyesight could barely pierce the veil that surrounded her on all sides. Even the birds were quiet, their silence carrying over the trees more than any squawk could. Adam plodded forward, spurred on at a steady pace by Blake's gentle hands. Blake glanced over her shoulder once more, the fog hiding any possible pursuers from her sight. Sienna had departed at the fog's onset, her company and help in avoiding the many White Fang traps had proven invaluable. 

Eventually the fog lightened and parted to reveal a clearing, crowded with what Blake could only guess were Raven's men. Their armor was a deep crimson, the dimeritium armor the same deep crimson as Raven's robe. Most were scattered around a cluster of tents and makeshift cooking pits, sharpening weapons or talking among themselves. Their Grimm mask's eyes glowed red in the fire's light, casting an ominous feeling over the camp. They carried themselves like veteran campaigners, bodies at ease and chatter light hearted even before what would certainly be a rescue attempt some wouldn't return from. The camp itself was well organized, with only one real inroad into the camp, and several makeshift pickets along the edges. 

Blake dismounted by where Roach and Silence were picketed, giving Adam one gentle stroke of thanks before setting off to find Raven. The task proved more difficult than anticipated, as the camp lacked a clear command tent, perhaps to prevent assassination, or perhaps Raven didn't appreciate showmanship. Regardless, Blake found her in her tent, sitting on the carpet with a small teacup in her hand. Perhaps more surprising was that Olgierd was sitting across from her, another cup in his hand. Both looked up as she pushed into the tent, one hand clutching a satchel that held the other half of Raven's prize. 

"Welcome back, Journeywoman witcher." Olgierd said, lips twitching the slightest as he took another sip of his drink, "I trust your journey fared well?" 

"Better than the Hym I had to kill." Blake sat down between the two, and took the third cup from the small table, and took a sip. It was warm, "You were expecting me?" 

"I'm not an idiot, I have sentries." Raven set her teacup down on the table, before looking over at Blake. "Do you have the other half of the diagrams?" 

Blake glanced down at the tea, not surprised in the slightest. Raven was all business, fortunately enough. It made it easy to know where you stood with her, as long as you had something that made you valuable. "I do. Are you ready to live up to your side of the bargain?" 

"I am. Even if it means working with you," 

Raven glanced at Olgierd, who chuckled, "It'll be just like old times. Well, mostly." 

Blake finished her tea, savoring the taste of mint. It was rare to be able to have something other than a cheap ale when on the Path. "So where is Yang being held?"

Raven rose to her feet, and motioned for Blake to rise. "That's the bad news. She used to be held in a small garrison just outside of Patch." 

"So where is she now?" Blake's stomach twisted at the possibilities, each one looking worse than the last. If they had taken Yang to Beacon, it might be impossible to reach her through all those trained warriors, especially since they'd have to get past the city-guard to do so. If they decided to take her out of Vale, then Blake was back at square zero. 

Raven lead her through the camp, ignoring the bowed heads her men gave her as she passed. Blake thought she looked more like a wolf than a Raven, but followed onward regardless. As they approached the last tent in the camp, the smell of roasting meat and smoke gave way to the stench of human filth and rot. A guard stood by the tent's flap, a broadsword slung over his back. His mask tilted down in respect as Raven approached. 

"He refuses to elaborate." A choked scream came from inside the tent, followed by a sickening crack. Raven didn't flinch, and instead turned to Blake. 

"We know they took your friend to the coliseum on the outskirts of the City of Vale. Trying to find out more about where she is has proven..." Blake's ears twitched at the shrieks of pain emanating from the tent, "difficult. I'm going to speed this up. You should rest, wait for your fellow witchers to return from scouting."

Raven set her hand on her sword, and turned towards the tent. She slipped her mask on and stepped forward. Blake was about to turn away, but something stopped her. She could help, witchers were experts at human anatomy. But the thought of torture was something that made Blake's stomach turn, and her blood boil. Through the admittedly small amount of years she had walked The Path she had encountered plenty of tortured souls, travelers victim of back alley gangs, bandits, or random sadists. Each time Blake had been able to slip into the cold and distant position of the examiner, seeing not a father mangled and impaled to a tree to die of maggot rot and infected cuts, but a mass of signs and symptoms.

What she was considering now would make that impossible. She would be systemically breaking down someone for only her gain, leaving a discarded husk in her wake. She almost turned away, but that would mean turning her back on Yang. Every second they delayed was one second Yang was closer to death, another second of torture and agony. Blake inhaled, thinking of those cold winter nights at Kaer Morhen where they would both sit across from each other, curled up in their bed's blankets. How Yang would help her with the instructor's lessons, how they would quiz each other over every detail. How Yang's eyes lit up every time she took a guess on a hard question and got it right, her encouraging smile every time Blake did the same. Blake exhaled and tightened her fists. She would give anything to have those nights back, to have more nights like them in the future. She would do anything, and take anything from anything to do so, her conscience be damned. Especially since she knew Yang would do the same for her. 

"Let me." Blake's voice sounded alien to her. Was it really her that was preparing to do this? 

Raven turned and met Blake's eyes for a moment. The bandit leader seemed to be staring into her soul, searching for something. After a moment, Raven nodded, apparently satisfied. "When he's talking, tell Winston to fetch me." Raven nodded to the tent's guard. "Try not to kill him."

Blake closed her eyes and took a moment to steel herself, before opening them and walking into the tent. The stench of blood, excrement, and infection hit her like a wave, and she paused to survey what she was dealing with. The tent was small, only several paces to each side. One side held a small table, with various bloody instruments and half empty vials of what looked like crude medicine on its bloody oaken surface. On the other side was a post, with a man chained to it. His copper hair was tangled and matted with blood, his body marred by various cuts and bruises. One eyes was shut and swollen, twitching painfully around a needle that was partially inserted into his eyelid. One leg was broken at an obscene angle, with several pieces of bone jutting out of his skin. 

A single interrogator was present, dressed in a simple gray robe and black boots. Both of her sleeves were cut off, revealing slender pale arms beneath. Blake noticed the Raven tattoo on her left arm, a fanatic? Two twin crescent blades were sheathed on her back, their blades reflecting silver off the lone light source in the tent, a torch placed near the post where the man was chained. 

"Raven sent you." It wasn't a question, but Blake nodded affirmative. The woman nodded to herself and rose from her crouch. "He's a tough one to crack, becomes a mute that can't put two thoughts together if you push him." 

The man didn't respond to the comment, still hanging limp against the post. "I'll figure something out." 

Blake walked over to the table, and frowned at the selection. As someone who knew that what separated a master from an amateur in any trade was dedication, skill, and a good toolkit, the collection was a disturbing revelation. She selected a sharpened butcher's knife, the handle heavy and sturdy, an unfamiliar logo carved onto it. Blake wondered which sacked village had given Raven's interrogator this knife. 

"Pretty wide selection for a nomadic tribe. Raven torture people often?" Blake took the cleanest rag off the table and what looked like a fairly acidic solution from the table. 

The woman watched her as she began methodically cleaning the dried and crusted blood from the blade with the rag, adding solution as needed. "Information's useful, especially when all of Vale wants your head. That will ruin the knife, by the way." 

Blake kept cleaning, until the blade was at least partly clean, clean enough to add an oil. "I know. What I'm adding will ruin almost any blade that isn't properly treated." 

She turned and walked over to where the man was chained, and knelt down. She yanked his head upward, forcing his eyes to meet hers. They were barely moving, tired. Blake saw them weakly recognize the face in front of them was different than before, but other than that there was no reaction. His chest was rising in falling in a specific pattern, a textbook coping mechanism. Blake sighed, and reminded herself exactly what was at stake here, and who she was doing this for. Her hand curdled into a fist, and she drove it into the man's stomach. He gasped and tried to double over, but the chains stopped him. 

"Do I have your attention?" Blake said

The man blinked, and returned to breathing in a pattern. Blake sighed, she didn't want to drag this out any more than she had to, for her sake and Yang's sake. "Which rib did I hear you crack earlier?" Blake turned to the interrogator, who looked at her with mild surprise. 

"5th rib." Blake nodded, and drove her fist into the man's stomach right at where she guessed the fracture on the rib was. The man gasped and gave an audible grunt of pain. 

"Do I have your attention?" 

"Yes." The man gritted his teeth and spat a wad of blood onto her knee. Blake ignored the petty gesture, and focused on getting what she needed. 

"Where are they holding the witcher in the coliseum?" The man chuckled weakly, and shook his head. 

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Torture me all you want, I know that no matter what the only thing that awaits me is an unmarked grave. I've made my peace with death, have you?" His eyes showed a temporary spark of defiance, and Blake narrowed her eyes in frustration. 

"What's your name?" The question was a simple one, but she didn't expect an answer. 

The man gave her a confused look, but glanced at the knife in her hand and relented. "Cardin." 

Blake nodded, that helped. It would let her bring this down to a human level, face to face interaction. By using his name it would help her form a more sincere tone to the dialogue, and make it easier for him to imagine and focus on what she was saying. Hopefully that would end up with less suffering for everyone involved. The interrogator watched without comment, but Blake could feel her gaze evaluating every move she made. Unfortunately, it also put a name to the face that would likely haunt her nights for a long time after this. It would remind her that it was a man with a family she was inflicting such pain on. 

"Cardin then. I'm Blake, and I need you to help me. My friend is held somewhere in Vale's coliseum, likely in a similar situation to you. I need to save her." Cardin's lips twitched in a small smile.

"Why would I ever help you?" His eye kept twitching around the needle inserted into it, it was distracting to see it sticking out of his eyelid. Blake suppressed a surge of disgust at the interrogator behind her. She gently removed the needle, hoping it would garner some trust and sympathy. If he empathized, he might relent and save them both much more than pain. 

"Because it was save us both a lot of pain. Right now you are the only thing standing between me and saving my friend. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if that means saving my friend. So please make this easy for both of us and tell me where she's being held." Blake couldn't believe she was doing this, especially to another human being. It was one thing to sever monsters limb from limb, or kill a bandit in self defense, but this...

It was wrong. 

"I'm dead either way." Cardin said, his voice sounded almost peaceful.

"There are different ways to die." The interrogator observed, breaking her silence. Cardin nodded to himself, not looking her in the eye. Blake had read in a book that most men are comparable to metal. Some are gold, easily bent and broken. Some are iron, brittle and unyielding yet prone to snap under the right amount of pressure. Yet a select few are steel, unyielding and unbreaking. Blake feared that Cardin was steel, and wouldn't break from any normal torment. To have survived for what must have been days, judging by the smell, made Blake doubt Raven could have broken him in time for Yang. She hoped so, for her own conscience. 

"Aye, that may be so. I can die loyal to justice and peace, or I can die a coward." Blake usually would have admired that conviction, that steel, but now it might be a death sentence for Yang. Didn't he see that she didn't want to hurt him? She just wanted to know where Yang was. 

Yang. Her first friend, her closest friend. Blake wanted to walk away, let Raven take over, do this depraved thing herself. But the thought that because Blake wasn't strong enough, brave enough, to chose her friend over her own conscience, was the reason for a delay that caused Yang's death...

That her cowardice was the reason she had to live in a world without her closest friend...

That she ran away and left Yang to die alone...

"Let me explain exactly what's about to happen. You tell me what I want to know, and we both benefit. You don't, and I do something we both regret." Blake reached into her belt, and drew out her Hanged Man's Venom. Even steel could be melted, if you knew the right formula. "Do you know what this is?"

No response. Cardin wasn't stupid, he knew whatever was in that bottle was going to be hell for him. Blake could see him steeling himself for what she was about to do next, just as she was steeling herself for what she was probably going to have to do. 

"Hanged Man's Venom. Lethal in moderate doses, but in small doses..." Blake poured a drop onto one of Cardin's open cuts and watched him seize against the post. His eyes dilated, Blake could hear his heart rate increase as his breaths started to come in ragged and strained. His legs thrashed in random patterns for several moments, and slowly he began to regain control, panting with the exertion. "very painful." It helped to focus on small changes, avoiding looking at the larger whole. Looking at what she was doing to him. 

"That's a small bottle. Wonder how many times you can pull that trick." Cardin tried to put on a brave face, but Blake could see the strain on his face, the apprehension as he tried not to look at the small bottle in her hand. 

Blake wasn't naive, the world wasn't all roses and torture was a needed thing. Rulers used it to protect their kingdoms, extract secrets, as needed. There was a difference between recognizing the value in something and doing it yourself. She was willing to torture Cardin, she was doing it for Yang. But that didn't stop her from hating every moment of it, of hating herself for doing this.

"Now, imagine this knife coated in this Venom," Blake waved the blade in front of him, hoping he would finally see sense and just give her what she wanted. Every second she wasted with him was one more second Yang was in agony. "Imagine then what happens when I insert in into your urethra. The agony that would cause, and how easy it would be for you to avoid it. I don't want this to happen any more than you do, so help me damnit." 

Cardin gave her a confused look, so Blake put it in layman's terms. Cardin's face turned an appropriate shade of white, and Blake waited expectantly for an answer. The conflict on Cardin's face was open for anyone to see, and she let it run its course. Cardin slumped against the post, and Blake sensed victory as he opened his mouth. 

"My body's going to be food for worms either way, my honor and vows to Vale and Ozpin can't be swayed by pain, by petty bandits like you." His face was deathly pale, and one leg couldn't stop twitching in fear, yet he met Blake's gaze with steel in his eyes. He was terrified, but unyielding. Blake respected that, more what she was about to do. 

Blake closed her eyes and inhaled. Even steel could be shattered, if you knew where to apply the acid. It was wrong, but it was needed. Many have said that witchers are heartless, but that isn't true. Witchers have hearts, fears and regrets, morals and honor. Blake's heart twisted as it tried to balance what she was about to do with who she was doing it for. There was only one answer, so she tightened her grip on the knife. Yang, she was doing this for Yang. For her, Blake could do anything.

"I'm sorry." Blake whispered, perhaps to Cardin, perhaps to herself. 

___________________________________________________

Blake exited the tent to find Raven waiting for her, arms crossed expectantly. Her eyes softened a fraction as she saw the look on Blake's face. Her arms uncrossed as she walked forward to meet Blake. Blake heard the interrogator exit the tent behind her, having finished herself with whatever questions Raven had given her. 

"He talked?" Raven asked, and Blake nodded faintly. She felt sick, light-headed. 

"Yeah. Yang's on the 3rd sub level, by the old storage rooms." Blake said, eager to just go get a hot meal and try not to think too hard about what she just did. 

Raven sensed her unease, though it wasn't like she could easily hide it. "You did what you had to do." 

Blake snorted, "So do monsters, so does everything else alive." She really wasn't in the mood to be talking philosophy with a bandit. 

Raven nodded her head, "Except they do it for themselves. You didn't." Raven set one hand on Blake's shoulder, the hand warm to the touch as she squeezed encouragement. "The willingness, the courage it takes to fight for your family isn't something monstrous, its admirable." 

Blake looked Raven in the eye, and saw what almost passed for compassion. Blake wondered if Raven had this conversation before, with herself. "I don't feel admirable, I feel sick." 

"That's good too lass, means you're still feeling. Still human." Olgierd strolled up, hand on his saber and an unusually solemn look on his face. His eyes were far away, lingering on some distant memory. "Take it from me, it's when you stop feeling sick after these things that there's a problem. Some things can't be avoided lass, especially during times like these." 

Raven looked over her shoulder towards the center of the camp, where laughter echoed through the clearing. "As long as you're fighting for your family, your tribe, it's worth it. Even when you feel sick, horrible, and depraved, you should hold yourself high knowing you kept fighting for them. Your tribe, that's all that matters, nothing else. This world's too cruel for morality."

Blake looked towards the camp, to the sounds of laughter. Towards the tribe Raven fought for with such conviction, such purpose. Blake couldn't help but think back to the dinners at Kaer Morhen, the occasional jokes between eating like they were starved. Ryan, who always finished first and dozed off at the table, Paul who always tried to trade his food with someone else because he was convinced the chef hated him, and Yang who always ended up giving Blake most of the onions in her stew. It was the first place she had felt truly home, not with parents she barely remembered. A small part of her just wanted the simplicity of the training years back, there was only two things to worry about: the instructors and everything else. But Paul was dead, Ryan was dead, everyone except Neo and Yang was dead from those days. 

Raven was right, it was cruel. It was the life of a witcher, but it was cruel. Blake was willing to fight for Yang. She would do whatever it took to protect one of her last remaining friends, even if that meant never being able to sleep soundly again. "Alright." 

Olgierd nudged her shoulder, "Come on then Journeywoman, the journey awaits, and so does the damsel at the end of it."

________________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Outskirts of Patch, 1 day later....)

"I see." The old soothsayer rubbed his chin as he squinted at Yang. "The attacks have been getting worse?" 

Blake nodded her head, sitting across from them both, her black tunic blending into the shadows of the hut. Lydia sat across the room, giggling quietly as she made attempts to catch the soothsayer's cat. Yang glanced over her shoulder, surveying the various herbs jarred along the wall shelf. His collection had grown since their last visit here. 

"Yes. Occasionally violent, which is what concerns me. Channeling the clearspring didn't work." Blake's voice took an impatient tone. 

"Magic is as much an art as a science. Trying to cure a magical malady in a being whose entire body was shaped by magic, and then exposed to this relic you mention is very difficult. There are so many conflicting energies and synergies to unwind without damaging the body." The soothsayer leaned forward in his chair, dark wrinkled hands clasping together on the table. "The mages who made witchers were each masters of their craft, working in conjunction with a team they'd practiced with for many moons. Nay, some conjurer of cheap tricks such as myself isn't who you would seek for such a thing." 

Blake's eyes narrowed a fraction, and Yang could see the veins in her hands grow taunt. "Then why did you agree to inspect her and take my gold?" 

"I agreed to look at the problem, but I shant cause you harm by trying to fix it." His calm demeanor turned into a small frown as he peered at Yang, before shaking his head and mumbling to himself. "All a half baked wizard like myself can do is try and find out more about what ails you."

Blake's lips thinned slightly, and she glanced over to Yang. Yang sighed and nodded, they were here, and it sounded like the man knew his limits and wouldn't push them. "So, what can you help us with?"

The soothsayer reached into his robe and removed an old tome, its pages crinkled and yellow with age. It looked decades old, but Yang recognized the title: Magnus Aosuralus: The Conjunction of Spheres. A book she overhead one of the mages talking about back at Kaer Morhen, specifically how hard it was to find a copy. 

"Before deciding to commune more with spirits than objects, I studied under a traveling mage for a while. He was fascinated with artifacts, especially those pre conjunction. Perhaps I could tell you more about this artifact you claim to have used so liberally." The soothsayer glared disapprovingly at Lydia for a moment, his obvious displeasure at the personal use of such a magic object written across his face. 

Yang scowled at the man, she wasn't about to be judged for taking admittedly extreme steps to ensure a happy future for Blake and herself. "So you've seen it, what can you tell us." 

"The mysteries of the arcane often do not pertain to the eye, especially with an object this old." 

This wasn't getting them anywhere, and Yang wanted to just go home and relax with a good old fashioned game of chess, or anything. "So if you had it, what could you tell us?" Blake asked, fishing out a small purple orb, its sleek marble surface glowing a smokey purple as small clouds curled and twisted around the globe. It seemed to ignite in Blake's hand, the clouds exploding outward a meter to reveal a shining orb that seemed to radiate confidence and self-assurance. 

"Hmm, let me examine it," The soothsayer motioned with his hand, and Blake placed the small orb in his hand. It immediately lost its sheen and returned to its faint smokey purple. "Yes, this certainly a relic of vast potential. Even someone as ungifted as I can feel the sheer power of this relic. Odd..."

Yang leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, peering at the dormant orb. "What?" 

The soothsayer murmured to himself, and his hand pressed in on the orb, and the clouds momentarily stirred. "Most odd. I expected this to be elvish in origin. Almost all relic pre conjunction were, save for the several recorded instances of dwarven magecraft being focused into such projects. Are you familiar with elvish magecraft?"

"Give me the dagger point." Blake glared at the soothsayer, not entirely pleased with the way the man's hands seemed to fondle the purple ball in his hand. Yang wasn't surprised, she could feel the warmth and comfort it projected from here. 

"Elvish wizards often viewed creating arcane objects as art, and the style of their creations reflected this, save for in the wars that erupted during the conjunction, where survival superseded artistic intent. But this predates everything I've ever even heard about, but the design..." He trailed off, flipping through several pages in the dusty tome as to confirm something to himself, before returning his gaze to the relic. "Where did you find this? If I knew more about what this object has been exposed to, it might make it easier to determine what was tampered with, and what was original." 

"Tampered with? You mean someone altered the purpose of the orb?" Yang frowned, she wasn't sure the idea that she used a compromised magic item for creating a family appealed to her.

"Yes, but that isn't as important. Where did you find this relic?" His eyes honed on Yang, expectant for an answer. 

Yang opened her mouth, then paused. She had seen this before, somewhere..., but why did he need to know that? A small part of her encouraged her to bite her tongue for a moment as she puzzled it out. Why did he need to know? She knew a little bit about how magic worked, and she wasn't sure origin was that big of a part in an objects working. Then again, Blake trusted him, and that was enough for her. 

"I'm not sure," Yang admitted, "I recognize the glow, the Grandmaster's medallion glowed a fiery purple when he fought Jorun a few decades ago. I always just thought it was an older variant of our medallions." 

"A witcher Grandmaster..." The soothsayer peered into the orb and smiled, "I see, thank you. This should prove very helpful." He glanced ruefully at the orb before returning it to Blake, who accepted it and returned it to her satchel. Lydia glanced up from her games long enough to admire the orb, mouth opened to a massive O shape. 

"So how does that help me?" Yang crossed her arms, doubtful of the soothsayer's motives. It seemed like he was more likely to stop by later that night for the orb rather than help her heal. 

The soothsayer ignored her at first, turning to the side and grabbing a jar of what looked like mandrake, before answering her question. "Magic is rarely simple, and with something so complex it would be perilous to take the beaten path." 

Yang huffed in irritation, she liked simple magic, like her signs. Short, sweet, and widely useful. The more abstract and arcane studies of mediums, soothsayers, sorceresses, wizards, and everything in between was just confusing and useless to her. For all the fancy magic, Yang had found more dead wizards and mages, gored by whatever horror skulked in the local woods than she had found dead witchers. 

Blake apparently shared her irritation, and her ears were folded back a fraction, "So can we get on with it?" 

The soothsayer glared at Blake with irritation, and Yang could have sworn she saw his eyes flash red. "I'm trying. This isn't exactly easy or undemanding work, you barbaric simpleton." His voice had grown in a higher pitch, almost out of no where. 

Yang seethed at the comment, and slammed her hand onto the table. "Don't talk to her like that." 

The soothsayer looked at Yang in shock for a second, his face seemed more angular and light skinned than before, his brown eyes seemed red. What was going on? Yang blinked for a few seconds, and he was back to normal. "I apologize witcher, stand still. Hopefully I'll be able to find the root of your issue now."

The soothsayer lifted a wrinkled hand, his green sleeve dropping back to reveal more of his thin and wrinkled arm. Yang noticed the wobble, he must have been exhausted. What was he doing before this? His fingers contorted in a complex pattern, and Yang felt her medallion start to twitch as the soothsayer concentrated, his eyes going blank as he chanted. The words were familiar, but it had been years since Yang had been exposed to Elder Speech, and she was too busy focusing on the tension emerging in her chest. It felt like a golem was crushing her rib-cage, and she gripped the chair and clamped down on her teeth to stop herself from crying out in front of Lydia. Her eyes flicked over to Blake, who was watching not with concern, but....Anticipation? That wasn't like Blake at all. 

"What's happening?" She felt her blood streaming down her fingers, cut open by the force she gripped the wooden chair with. It felt like her blood was seizing inside her body, twisting and contorting inside her veins.

No response, so Yang tried to bear the pain, but it was hell. She could barely see, feeling her body twist and shake in ways that were unnatural even for magic. The soothsayer's head was laced with sweat, and Yang could hear his labored breathing in between the beats of her own heart. Her vision flashed different colors of red as she felt her eyes change shape as blood rushed in and out, her mind seizing in agony. 

"Stop!" She couldn't take it, this was unbearable. Her entire body was pain, an ocean tempest of movement and torment, and there wasn't any land. Yang tried to move, to rise, to do anything else, but her body was no longer her own. 

Nobody listened, or seemed to care. Her vision was fragmented, pieces of a picture scattered against a backdrop of blackness as her body seemed to implode inward. Whatever spell the soothsayer had cast had gone terribly wrong, and nobody seemed to notice. In between the tidal waves of agony, Yang realized in some distant corner of her mind that she was going to die. Blood was streaming down her face, from her mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. Her entire body was broken, and Yang knew that there was no coming back from a spell like this as the magic coursing through her seared her skin. 

The soothsayer said something faintly that she couldn't make out through ears clogged with blood and pain, but her hell got worse. Yang couldn't stop herself from screaming out as her insides were enveloped in some spell, perhaps to try and contain the damage. But whatever healing spell the soothsayer used didn't work, instead searing her organs with blinding heat. She felt something, faintly through the tempest. Did she just fall over? It was hard to tell. Her mind was only pain as the soothsayer tried in vain to salvage the spell. Yang just wanted him to end it, she was doomed, mangled beyond repair. Her whole body seized as the soothsayer twisted his hand, and Yang felt herself thrown backwards, and everything went white. 

Smoke.

Pain.

Movement...

Yang coughed up an ungodly mixture of what looked like blood and sulfur. Her whole body ached, and she wasn't sure how she was standing, let alone able to think. She rolled onto her back, and a wooden support beam loomed above her, and she could vaguely make out the reddish smoke stains often left over from alchemy on the beam. Where was she? She struggled to one knee, and surveyed the ground around her. 

Broken glass, scattered herbs littered the floor around her. Yang saw mostly common herbs, like mandrake and beggartick. Various different bottles, ladles, bowls, and other utensils lay interspersed in the mess, as if someone had tipped over an entire workspace. Yang froze as she heard a noise behind her. She turned slowly, hand slipping over her shoulder to where her twin blades would be resting, only to find them empty. She remembered, they were back at Patch, a shame. 

Yang's eyes widened as she saw the two monsters crouched next to the still corpse of what must have been the alchemist that lived here. Two bruxae, ghostly pale skin dripping blood as they tore into the corpse of the poor bastard, shaking him back and forth with the effort. Yang felt her blood run cold, one bruxa had almost killed her, Blake, and their teacher. Two against her, without any armor, potions, or silver was a death sentence. She needed to get out of there, now. The problem was the door was closer to them than it was to her, and Bruxa had finely honed senses. Still, Yang wasn't one to die without a fight. 

She made it three steps to the door before one's head snapped towards her, elongated fangs snapping in anticipation. "Shit." Yang whispered, reached into her tunic to find that her trophy knife was still where she kept it. A small comfort versus a Bruxa, but it was better than nothing. 

One Bruxa extended an arm towards the other, claiming the kill for itself? The other Bruxa nodded, long black hair stained red at the tips as she continued to devour the body. The first Bruxa advanced slowly, claws twitching in anticipation for the kill. Yang tightened her grip on the knife, and the Bruxa gave a low growl, stepping forward again at a slower pace. Was it trying to goad her? Yang had never seen a Bruxa act like this, it usually went in fast and relied on its speed and reflexes to overwhelm its prey. 

Yang took a reflexive step backwards, keeping the Bruxa far enough away that if it moved she might have time to react. The Bruxa took another step forward, keeping Yang close enough to reach with one concerted lunge. It was backing her into a corner, trying to toy with her. Yang ignored the coiling tension in her stomach as she eyed the monster in front of her. She was likely going to die, but she had to do something. She would kill for a moondust bomb right now, because the Bruxa likely wouldn't remain visible for long once she attacked. 

Yang moved the second the Bruxa raised its left foot, casting Quen as she darted forward, knife lunging for its underarm. If she could strike at some of the weaker points the knife might do enough damage to give her the few seconds she needed to escape, but that wasn't likely. The Bruxa twisted, slower than Yang expected, but still fast enough to keep ahead of her as it side stepped and grabbed her knife arm. Yang spun the blade in her palm and struck out at its arm, blocking the Bruxa's bite with her other forearm, holding its throat at bay. Its face was inches from hers, the empty black eyes staring into her soul as it hissed. Yang drove her knee upwards, and the Bruxa leapt backwards, releasing her knife hand. 

Why hadn't it tried to use its claws yet? Everything felt wrong, surreal and distorted. Yang made for the door, but the Bruxa leapt in front of her again, arms poised and ready, claws glinting in the sunlight from the window. Yang grimaced and rushed forward again, slashing up with her knife. The Bruxa ducked low, and was slammed into the door by Aard's shockwave. It hissed in pain and rose unsteadily to its feet, eyes warily on Yang's knife. 

"Damnit, just get out of my way, There's a body over there for you..." Yang tried to leap backwards as the Bruxa charged, but her feet felt as if they were encased in quagmire. Yang didn't waste time trying to think about why, she was busy trying to thrust her knife into the Bruxa's throat and hold onto its other hand. 

Yang grunted as it drove a knee into her chest, driving the wind out of her. The momentum of the blow let her shift the Bruxa's weight off of her, and gave her the leverage to drive the knife hilt deep into the monster's shoulder. It screeched in pain as Yang removed the knife and kicked it into the table. It shattered as the Bruxa collided with its lower left leg, crashing down onto the bloodied monstrosity and hopefully pinning it long enough for Yang to escape to Patch. 

She panted with exertion as she sprinted for the shack door, but she wasn't fast enough. The second Bruxa was in front of the door, stance low and arms spread wide against the door frame. It hissed as Yang kept coming, preparing to meet her charge. Yang braced herself, nothing was ever easy in her life, but this was ridiculous. The Bruxa tried to tackle her, but it moved slower than Yang thought possible. Perhaps it was starved, which is why the other wanted it to keep feeding? Whatever the reason, Yang deflected one oncoming claw thrust and slashed upwards with her trophy knife, cutting across the Bruxa's arm before going in for the killing blow. The Bruxa gave a screech that didn't sound remotely like any vampire Yang had ever heard, but she didn't pause to think on it as she thrust the knife home into the vampire's throat, and Yang let a smile grace her lips at the satisfaction of getting the best of two Bruxae at once.

Then her world shattered. 

The Bruxa in front of her was in one second no longer a Bruxa, but Lydia. Her arm cut almost to the bone, and a knife driven past the hilt into her throat. Her pale skin was growing paler as she went into shock rapidly, her entire front staining itself crimson as a horrifying amount of blood flowed from the open wound in her throat. Yang collapsed, horrified at what she had just done. Her eyes trying to process what just happened. What did she just do?

"Lydia..." The girl's eyes weakly glanced at her, with a look of pure fear and betrayal. Yang held her daughter close as she tried to weakly sob, unable to do even that as she died. Her body was growing cold and unfeeling, spasming weakly in choked pain. Her hands, which used to pick the fruit from their backyard tree were now pale and cold. The mouth that would always offer some adorable question about the world or ask for 5 more minutes with Grandpa Tai now only offered a trickle of blood from dead lips. The heart Yang would always hear beating as they played Cat and Mouse was now silent. It was wrong, horrible, and it was all her fault. Her fault her daughter was now dying in her arms. 

Yang clutched her close, unable to hold back the tears any longer. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Yang almost refused to believe it, there was no way she would kill her own daughter. It was unthinkable, yet she couldn't deny the bloody child she was holding. She couldn't turn away from the lifeless eyes staring accusingly into her soul, no longer merry and curious. Yang wasn't sure she would ever sleep again, she wasn't sure she wanted to. 

"Lydia!" Blake's agonized scream came from behind Yang, the sound of it heart wrenching to hear. Yang didn't want to look, to meet her lover's eyes, but there are some fates that can't be avoided. 

The abject horror on Blake's face transcended words, its unadulterated shock and grief was something Yang was certain would haunt her for the rest of her days. Blake's eyes refused to leave the body Yang clutched. Her hands gripped her arms hard enough that blood trickled down Blake's forearms, but she hardly noticed as she sank to her knees. For a while she sat there, mute and sagging under the weight of her own disbelief, her blood the only thing moving as it trickled downward to stain the oak floor a deep crimson. Yang swallowed after a minute, the small sound sounding like a thunderclap in the silent hut. She tore her gaze away from her daughters body long enough to see the horrendous state of her lover. 

Blake's arms were now covered in scarlet, her own skin starting to grow pale from the blood loss, but she didn't seem to care. Her eyes were vacant, unseeing as they stared at the floor just in front of Yang. She was barely moving, almost as still as the corpse of the her daughter, who Yang murdered right in front of her. Her ears were flat, almost completely invisible in her hair as they tucked away in shock. 

"Oh god," Yang wasn't sure she could believe in any deity, let alone one that had just let her do this, but she needed something to cling to right now. "Blake, I'm so sorry..." 

Blake's eyes seemed to return to life for a moment, only to glance upwards and take in Lydia's broken corpse all over again. Yang felt her heart split in two as those beautiful eyes, the ones that would always be the last thing Yang saw every night, twitched in shock. Blake opened her mouth to speak, only to collapse into grief stricken sobs. Yang looked away and tried to steel herself, it was too hard to watch this. The knowledge that she was the cause of Blake's suffering only crushed her further.

She tried to reach out and comfort her lifelong companion and lover, but as she drew closer Blake met her eyes and hissed. The primal sound caught Yang off guard, "You...killed her." Blake's eyes bore into Yang's soul, cold and unforgiving. 

"I didn't know! I thought she was a monster. The spell must have done something..." Yang said, but Blake didn't even flinch. Her eyes weren't stable, they were wide and almost unseeing. Her entire body seemed unhinged, as if the trauma of seeing her daughter's corpse had broken her. 

"The only monster here is you." Blake rose shakily to her feet, her usual grace replaced by a twisted and staggering gait, the burden of her grief uneven on her shoulders. "How could you?"

Yang's eyes widened as Blake drew her own trophy knife, "Blake, let's calm down, I can't even begin to imagine how this must feel, but I'm sorry." Blake snarled and lunged forward, blade striking out towards Yang's left eye.

"Sorry doesn't bring her back, doesn't fix what you've done." Blake hissed as Yang blocked her lunge with two hands and kicked out at her left knee, forcing her back. 

Blake landed off-kilter, feet already trying to rush back towards Yang even before she landed. Yang lunged back as Blake swung at her chest, grunting as Blake's foot caught her lower stomach. Pain lanced up her back as she collided with the hut wall, and Blake came at her again. "Neither does killing me, Blake." 

"Shut up." Blake's hands danced, and Yang's eyes widened as her own left hand was already moving, her instincts saving her. 

A blue wall of force crashed into Yang's golden shield, overloading Quen and shattering the barrier and sending Blake stumbling back into the large table. Yang panted as she steadied herself along the wall, she had to end this madness fast, before anyone else got heart. "Stop this, please. This isn't the Blake I knew." 

Blake grabbed a jar full of mandrake and threw it, rushing forward. Yang threw up her right arm, wincing as the jar broke against her skin, and several shards of glass bit deep into her arm. Blake gave her no respite, using her own trophy knife to brutal efficiency as she pressed Yang towards the corner. Yang tried to divert her attacks, dodging and redirecting her attacks with her own trophy knife, but Blake was a witcher. Yang blocked a kick aimed at her solar plexus with one hand, as Blake slipped past her counter punch to leave a gash along her lower chest. 

Blake came at her throat, and Yang twisted right, driving her elbow deep into Blake's gut. She grunted in pain and stomped downward on Yang's left foot, breaking at least three of Yang's toes with the blow. Yang drove her other knee upward's into Blake's side, blocking another knife thrust towards her knife with her own blade. 

"Blake, stop, please." Blake hissed and drove the hilt of her trophy knife into Yang's nose hard enough to break it. 

Yang fell back on one knee again as her eyes involuntarily teared up, something Blake was counting on. "You killed her. You killed our daughter." The unbridled rage in Blake's voice sent chills down Yang's spine. She saw the first strike, and deflected the punch, but the tears in her eyes blinded her to the second. 

Blake's right hand grabbed her head, nails digging deep into Yang's scalp. She screeched in rage and slammed Yang's head sideways into the hut wall. Yang's head swam, the force of the blow fragmenting her vision as the sound of wood splintering filled her ears. Blake dug her nails in deeper and slammed Yang's head into the pillar again. Yang felt the splinters lodging themselves underneath her skin as Blake drew her head back a third time. Her instincts were moving, even as her brain swam in a muddled mess from the concussion that was no doubt taking hold. 

Quen raced over her skin as Blake slammed her into the pillar a third time, the magic shield exploding outward with the impact and forcing Blake backwards as Yang struggled to her feet. "That mage's spell did that. Please calm down Blake." Yang said, and cast Axii as Blake came at her again. 

Her lover barely slowed, her rage and force of will over coming Axii's weak mental hold with ease. Yang shifted her weight to her right foot and side-stepped Blake's first thrust, blocking her kick with her own knee. She kicked out with that same leg, but Blake slashed downward with her extended knife hand, leaving a narrow gash on Yang's thigh. 

"I saw your face when you thrust that knife into her neck, Yang. You smiled. Smiled. No magic did that." Blake tried to slash with her backhand towards Yang's neck. Yang parried the strike and their dance began again. 

Parry, thrust, lunge, block, dodge, kick, slash, dodge, parry again. Their knives moved like silver fish through water, graceful and deadly. Their dance was familiar, the partners old friends. "I can't make it right, but it wasn't my fault Blake." Yang said, trying one last time to see reason. 

Blake ducked under Yang's slash and thrust, her knife slipping past Yang's defense and piercing her upper right thigh. Yang grunted as her body started to grow numb in that leg, the cold steel being the only sensation. Blake twisted the knife and Yang's leg gave out, sending her to the floor. Yang cast Igni, but Blake's finger's matched her own, and the flames died against a golden shield. 

"This was all your fault. To think I ever loved such a broken, primal thing like you." Blake's voice dripped venom as she kicked Yang onto her back. "All you've ever done was bring pain and suffering to any of your friends."

Yang tried to rise, but Blake's boot slammed into her throat, forcing her down and restricting her airflow. "Blake..."

The boot pressed down harder. "I trusted you, and you betrayed me. Lydia loved you, and you killed her. Vesemir died for you, and you wasted that sacrifice. Ruby needed you, and you left her. Geralt believed in you, and you failed him." Blake's eyes narrowed as she twisted the boot. Yang's lungs screamed out for oxygen, and Yang's vision was getting dark. Her body felt cold, the blood less and the pain of Blake's words freezing her from the inside out. 

"You are just a wandering murderer. A waste of space and effort. I can't believe I ever loved you, ever called you friend. But I did, and because of that, I'll grant you one last mercy." Blake leaned in and stared deep into Yang's eyes.

"No one should die alone." Blake whispered, and Yang barely felt the knife drag across her throat as the world went dark. 

 

___________________________________________________________

"Have fun, princess?" Mercury asked, leaning against the wall to her right. 

Yang remained silent, still processing the ordeal. A part of her brain knew that it wasn't real, but it didn't help. It felt real, so real that even now she could remember how her muscles twitched as Blake's knife slid in, or how her insides revolted when Vesemir had inserted the maggot into her eye. Yang shuddered slightly, she would never forget the feeling of having a maggot eat her eye from the inside out, real or not. 

Yang tried not to look at the room around her, since its state reflected her own. Mercury had brought in an entire room's worth of different tools to torment her in between Emerald's visits. Clamps to break her ribs, needles to insert into nerve clusters, acids to burn and blister her feet, everything. It was her blood that coated a dozen different instruments of torture, her excrement that covered the floor, and her torment that had been feeding Mercury's endless sadism for untold days. 

"Aw, don't be hard on her, she's been through a lot." The same seductive voice drawled from behind Yang, and Cinder's hand caressed her cheek. "But you've finally given in, doesn't it feel nice?"

Yang tried in vain to bite the hand, but stopped as Mercury pressed the tip of another one of his knives against her navel. She still remembered the feeling of Mercury's poisoned blades, the agony that only ended after hours of torment. Emerald was still nowhere to be found, a fact that was deeply unsettling. Usually Emerald only left the room if she needed to rest for another session, preferring instead to stay and taunt Yang if Mercury needed a break. 

Confusion caused Yang to furrow her brow, "What do you mean?" Her voice felt raspy, and her dried lips struggled to form the words. Most of her water came through infrequent waterboarding or the occasional glass to keep her alive. Words tore at her dried throat, leaving aches that would last for hours. 

"The location of the relic, you gave it to us. To believe it was within 5 feet of Ozpin for all that time at Kaer Morhen, and he never sensed it." Cinder stepped into view, her red dress even more striking in the damp shit-hole Yang's prison had become. "Salem must be right about him." 

Yang didn't know what Cinder was talking about, and she didn't care. Her entire life had become defined by a pattern of pain and relief. Emerald would enter, inflict countless horrors on her mind ranging from her friends being tortured to her friends torturing her to monstrosities that would haunt her nightmares. Mercury would follow, and focus on her body. Each day was a new technique, a new scar on her body. Then, it would be Cinder, and a brief respite. She would taunt Yang, mock her new scars, and ask her questions. Then the process would start anew. 

"But that doesn't matter right now," Cinder smirked, her eyes light as she knelt in front of the chair where Yang was chained down. Yang averted her eyes, but Cinder pulled her face up to eye level, "What matters is that now we know where the relic is, right where are your surviving friends are. So when they die protecting it, knowing or not, it will all. be. because of you."

Yang tried to yank her head away in shame, the burning realization that she wasn't strong enough, that she put Neo, Vesemir, Geralt, Blake... in danger tore her heart apart. Cinder pulled her back again with a chuckle that made Yang's skin crawl. She recoiled when Cinder planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Poor girl. Don't worry, Mercury here will give you plenty of things to distract yourself with before your execution." Yang just let her head fall limp as Cinder laughed and walked away, her heels making the only sound in the room. "I'll be sure to give your regards to your friends." 

Yang didn't look up, it was too much. She was helpless, powerless to save the people she cared about. Mercury kicked off the wall and approached at a slow gait. "So, how about you and me spend some quality time together?"

Yang flinched as the punch landed, but otherwise didn't look up. "Why keep doing this? You got what you wanted." 

Mercury laughed, and grabbed one of her fingers. "I haven't. Cinder's in this for the information, Emerald was a professional, in this for Cinder and the money. But me? I'm in it for this." He twisted the finger sharply, breaking it. Yang grunted as the pain shot up through her arm, but otherwise remained silent. 

Pain had long since become an old friend.

"Oh good, you've still got some spirit left in you. I was afraid Emerald had finally broken your mind completely, takes all the fun out of this." Mercury winked at her, his gray tunic already stained crimson with her blood. Yang was still disgusted at his sadism, the pleasure he got from breaking her body piece by piece sometimes was borderline sexual. 

"Please just kill me." Yang's voice was barely a whisper, but Mercury still laughed all the same.

"Don't worry princess, Cinder wouldn't give you to me forever. Just for tonight, so I thought we'd make it special. A night to remember all the time we've spent together, all the pain we've shared." Mercury grinned down at her, and walked around the chair with a purposely slow gait. Yang didn't even try to track his movements, she had long since lost the will to see what was coming next. 

Her blood went cold when she heard it. A sound so familiar, so mundane, yet so terrifying to her. After days of undergoing what she could only describe as one of Mercury's more mundane, but effective torments. The sound of sloshing water in a bucket. 

After everything Mercury had done to her, this was still one of the worst. Even after the beatings, stabbings, poison, maggots, blades, broken ribs, torn retina, broken fingers, puss filled food, the water still terrified her on a level so deep and dark she could never consciously understand it. 

Her entire body was shaking, the terror of knowing what was about to come overwhelming any semblance of will she had left. "No... No don't, please."

Mercury waited for a moment behind her, savoring her fear. Eventually he grabbed her chair and started dragging her backwards. "I know this isn't the most exciting thing that we've done, but I always thought it held such a special place in both of our hearts. Seemed a fitting way to end our time together." 

Yang tried to resist her instincts, tried to remain calm. She tried to think of anything else at all, even the other memories of her torment, but her mind was dominated by only one thought, the horror to come. She hadn't been strong enough, and she wasn't strong enough now. Yang's terror consumed her long before the first drop of water touched the cloth over her face, and her nightmares became reality once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this might be a bit long, but bear with me please. 
> 
> This story isn't a good guys / bad guys story, if anyone thinks that. I wanted this chapter to really make this clear, that Blake and Yang aren't moral paragons. Arming bandits, bargining with terrorists, now torturing guardians of the peace, etc. They also aren't bad guys either, just friends wanting to do whatever it takes to help each other. Ozpin and co aren't good either, for reasons that are probably just as obvious. So I hope this chapter doesn't come off as Blake suddenly becoming the morally deprived pyscho, as I tried to make it very clear the difference between a witcher in a desperate situation in a world that really doesn't like her, and an actual borderline pyschopath (Merc the Man). 
> 
> Next up: Yang's 'torture'. Some people have pointed out I may have dropped the ball here. That might be right. When it comes down to it, I didn't want to show a bunch of graphic images of one of my favorite characters getting abused for pages on end. So I left hints, which may or may not be enough for some people, and went for a more pyschological aspect. This may or may not have resonated with people, and that's all right. I hope that I got a portrayal of Yang's suffering that while not gratuitous, showed signs of what she went through. I chose to take this route because I guess I'm a bit of a softy, and didn't think I could write the abuse graphically enough.
> 
> I know I said the rescue was this chapter, but I couldn't find a good place to stop, because once it starts, holy shit have I got alot of stuff I want to happen, from several different viewpoints. So before I started sorting that mess, I figured I'd get this controversy bundled and out. 
> 
> Finally, I know some of you have mentioned overall story choices/ narrative choices that could have been better. I wanted to thank you for that, extremely grateful and honestly, humbled that you all put that much effort into thinking about this story. Its extremely humbling and appreciated, so I wanted to state (again), that just because I don't do a re-write, or it might not seem like anything is changing as far as the feel of various relationships, I'm trying. Your advice has not fallen on deaf ears, but rather on clumsy fingers, and I beg patience with this. I want to spell it out that I love every piece of feedback, from encouragement to advice, and I take it all seriously. I don't want anyone to think their comment wasn't read and given serious thought, because I read them all, often multiple times. I can't really state how much it means, every comment, kudo, and bookmark, but I guess I can rant about it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you all enjoy it, and there is more to come (namely a bee-union that probably won't satisfy quite like that volume 5 finale, but hey) :)


	12. Demigods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake, Raven, Neo, Geralt and her tribe embark on an ambitious plan to rescue Yang, but nothing ever goes as planned.
> 
> Ruby's day off goes just about as well as you'd expect from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, I know, shocking. Again, this is never dead until I say it is.
> 
> That being said, the chapter has arrived! The rescue has started! Hopefully I wrote this well, and I'm eager to hear everyone's feedback. This was a fun and very stressful and challenging one to write. Hopefully you enjoy the chapter and thanks so much to any returning or new viewers, you all rock. 
> 
> Cheers!

__________________________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, City of Vale, 2 hours later...)

The city guard was out in force, their visored helms scanning everywhere at once as they marched through the muddy streets. A few gave Raven second glances, but they were ultimately ignored. Blake's back felt empty without Shroud nestled beside Gambol, but without it she passed for a faunus mercenary traveling to the city for work and booze. Raven's outfit hadn't changed, but Blake doubted there were any huntsmen who saw her and lived. Together they blended into the mass of wandering mercenaries in the city, faces grim and armor dented and mud-stained as they sought out more work from all the rich city-goers attending the coliseum fights.

The city streets were choked with them, as it was to be expected in the lower city. Merchants littered every door-way, street corner, and alleyway Blake could see, screaming out prices and waving their goods for all to admire. She brushed past one such merchant, ignoring his over-jeweled dagger. Blake kept pushing through the crowd towards the coliseum, and Raven matched her pace for pace.

"This city somehow became even more of a festering shithole since my last visit." Raven said under her breath, side-stepping a guard patrol.

"Didn't know bandits frequented Vale City."

"Not every bandit is born in the woods," Raven glanced towards the looming walls of Beacon. Her hand tightened around her sheath as she kept walking. "Sometimes the forest is the lesser of two evils."

Blake thought back to the slaughtered villagers, all of those lives ruined. "Must have been a pretty massive evil."

The entrance to the coliseum loomed ahead, the stone arches towering over the streets, their bricks faded and chipped with age. The walls at Kaer Morhen had shown similar age, was the city elvish in origin too? The guards at the gate were certainly human, their faces bored and postures relaxed. Most were too busy picking at crusted food to inspect the flood of people thoroughly, but the several huntsmen with them did. Blake tensed as she came closer to the entrance, the aftermath of Kaer Morhen burned into her mind.

"It was, if your mountain castle was any indicator." Raven whispered, before drifting slightly apart from Blake in the crowd.

The huntsmen at the entrance were alert and ready, their eyes screening the crowd as they called out orders to the city guard under their command. The plate mail they wore shone bright in the sun, gleaming next to the faded and worn armor of their subordinates. Blake wasn't surprised, after Vale lost almost half an army at Kaer Morhen armor would be in short supply, even for the city guard. Like gold, quality equipment always seemed to flow up hill. Their weapons varied, as was custom. She wondered how many had tasted blood before. Blake tried to slip past with the crowd, but a massive voice forced her to a halt.

"Hold there!" Gruff and self-righteous, it carried across the crowd, stirring the city guard to attentiveness.

Blake tried to look for Raven, but couldn't see her at all. Even her unique mask was nowhere to be found, oddly enough. Blake sighed and turned towards the huntsman who called her, walking to meet him at the edge of the mob. His beard ended an inch above her forehead, and he peered down through thick ginger hair at her.

"No weapons are allowed in the arena." His voice was mono-tone, judging by the growing pile of various weapons behind him this wasn't his first stop, nor his tenth.

Blake was a hard bitten mercenary, so she had to play the part. She spat on the dirt in front of him, "Horseshit. Since when are weapons banned in the fight pit? How do you expect someone to impress some deep pursed pretty boy wifout steel at her side?"

A guard snickered at that comment, but the huntsmen ignored it. "Ozpin's always looking for huntresses. His gold's as good as any."

Blake snorted, playing into her act. She had to keep the guard busy for a little while longer, long enough for Geralt to finish. "And get meself impaled wif dark magics? I'd rather bed a donkey."

"With a faunus, who knows what they take to bed." A guard muttered, and a few of his comrades chuckled among themselves.

Blake's ears flattened, but she rolled her eyes. It wasn't anything she hadn't heard before, and was rather tame compared to the hollers in Ard Skellig. "Whaever I bed is my business, but it's always a prettier sight than you."

The guards let out a few good natured laughs at their friend, who just grinned. Soldiers honed their tongues more than their swords, so Blake let it drop and turned to face the huntsman. "So what's gonna stop some boot-licking cur from running off with my blade? This isn't some heap of raw iron, I got it custom made, and I want it back." She glanced at the entrance again, what was keeping Geralt? He was supposed to have done it by now, and time was running out.

"You have my word as a huntsman, and no thief can get past Barbs over there." He indicated a crossbowman, who winked at her.

"Fine. I count the nicks though, so ya gutter-rats better not add another." Blake sighed in frustration, staging a rescue without Gambol would make things complicated, even more so if Geralt was caught or got himself killed somehow.

As her hand touched Gambol's hilt, an explosion rocked the arena. The crowd around them seized like a wounded animal in a panic, fighting itself to get back out into the safety. Screams echoed through the coliseum as the old bricks shook, several blown out of their places to fall into the crowd below. Smoke filled the air, and Blake slipped against the crowd, pushing towards the coliseum.

To their credit, the city guard remained professional and collected. The entrance squads dispersed quickly, screaming orders to the crowd and each other as they moved. Their faces were tight, eyes alert and scanning everywhere in case attackers materialized out of the crowd. Short swords and pikes sat in white-knuckled hands, and a makeshift phalanx was formed as they fanned out to maintain order.

The huntsman drew his massive broadsword and leveled it at the arena. "Second squad, keep order here. Barbs, take the other marksmen to the upper levels. The rest of you follow me." He charged into the crowd, and Blake plunged into the wake left by his squad. They didn't notice or didn't care that she was following behind him, which was fine with her. The guard dispersed into several squads headed towards the source of the explosion as the crowds thinned and they drew closer to the inner arena. Blake didn't join them, turning instead in the opposite direction.

She was headed towards the sub-levels, where she would meet a few of Raven's men. They would get Yang, and use the sewer to escape while the fires raged and Geralt escaped after making sure the distraction stuck. Blake just prayed Yang was still alive and in one piece when she got there. She pushed those thoughts out of her head, she needed to get to Yang first before worrying about any of that.

The hallways of the arena were clogged with smoke and dust from falling bricks, making it hard to see over all the running masses of people. Crates and toppled merchant stands filled the ground, making running treacherous. Blake did so anyway, moving with ease over and around the scattered obstacles. A few bodies polluted the wreckage, their blood still fresh and pooling around the ground, trampled by the masses. From somewhere behind her another, smaller explosion sent more dust down on her head. Stay safe Geralt, I don't want to lose another wolf today.

The sublevels were cramped and damp, as befitting an ancient slave pen. A few torches valiantly tried to fend off the darkness, but the darkness was oppressive and musty. Patches of fungus and mold clung to the walls, filling in the cracks in the ancient stone. Blake struggled to recall the exact layout of the labyrinth, but she pushed onwards with Gambol outstretched. Her ears twitched as mice scurried through the store rooms around her, feasting on whatever lay within. Then...there it was. The hushed whisper of conversation, close and up on her left. Blake marched forward with purpose, and came across a old metal door.

The metal was rusted, but there was little dust on the door, and light spilled out of the crack. Blake pushed it open. Two swords were halfway out of their sheaths before Raven, one of her men , and someone she didn't recognize relaxed. Blake stepped inside and shut the door again, before turning to glance at the third woman. A massive green cloak hung over her slender shoulders, its rich verdant color laced with swirls of golden lines that faintly shone in the gloom of the room. A single arm rested on a leather belt, a golden vambrace visible. The chestpiece was a similar color, and shone with the same light. The craftsmanship on the armor was beyond anything Blake had seen, save for Geralt's armor.

"Are we ready to move?" Raven asked

Her bandit responded, "One-Eye and his boys did their thing. The chaos above should buy us some time."

"The sewer exit has been cleared," The woman spoke, her voice quiet and hard. "Time is of the essence. We must move."

"Agreed." Blake quickly fell in line as they moved deeper into the sublevel. They passed several city-guardsmen, their armor scorched with mage fire. Blake tried not to breathe through her nose, the smell of burnt flesh and fused metal was not a pleasant one. Raven and the green cloaked woman took point, while Blake and Raven's man followed behind. The corridors grew more and more decrepit, as mossy tendrils snaked further and further along the walls. Doors began dropping away until there were barely any at all, each door hanging loosely off rusted hinges that were caked in dust. Little words were spoken as the screams and shouts from above drifted down into the hallway around them. The silence of the journey was a welcome comfort to Blake, who was too busy focusing on what was to come. What state would Yang be in? Did they remove her limbs, break her legs? All of those thoughts occupied her mind until a nudge sent her back into focus.

Blake glanced forward and berated herself, she needed to have razor focus for this. Ahead in the corridor sat a polished door. The wood was old, but it lacked any sign of dust. Even in the dark, Blake could see the polish on the hinges and handle, which were worn smooth with use and lacking in rust. Her heart quickened a pace as she laid eyes on that door, she was certain Yang was behind it. I'm coming Yang. Before she could take another step forward, the reason why the rest had stopped stepped forward.

"Raven, Amber." A calm and measured voice said, before a man stepped forward from behind a hidden alcove. "I had hoped to meet under better circumstances."

Blake tightened her grip on Gambol and sized up the man before her. He radiated a calm composure that unnerved her, especially given that he seemed to know Raven. His hair was silver and off to one side, letting twin brown eyes survey them from behind small spectacles. His stance was open, and he carried the weight of the black mail plate that adorned his body with ease. His small half-smile showed no sign of discomfort, and Blake noticed he didn't shift his weight at all. His grip on the longsword resting in front of him was loose and relaxed, yet firm. Blake swallowed nervously, he carried himself like Master Vesemir, the greatest swordsman Blake had ever known. Except he looked 30 years younger than Vesemir, and was intimidating enough that even Raven had shifted onto her back foot.

Raven let her hand drop to her sword, "Ozpin." She growled, "Your sources have grown I see."

A voice called out from behind them, "Not by much. But I figured someone had to keep an eye on you, sister." Blake spun around, Gambol raised in a defense stance. The bandit at her right snarled at the man, and spun his mace in a few semi-circles.

"Traitor."

"Lap dog." The man shot back. He staggered with a slight flourish, intoxicated. The massive weight of the scythe strapped across his back likely wasn't doing him any favors. Blake squinted and looked deeper. The scythe held a keen edge, recently sharpened. The man's eyes weren't unfocused, and the surveyed Blake's stance with a knowing eye. The hardened leather armor the man wore was almost scorched white, something only the deserts of Zerrikania were known to achieve. The deserts there would claim any drunkard within hours, if the free warriors within it didn't do it sooner. This man was dangerous, and Blake was determined to treat him as such.

Raven glanced over her shoulder for a moment, before returning her attention to Ozpin. "Dearest brother, only showing yourself when there are bigger threats around. Typical. Durge, kill him."

Raven's brother smiled a wolves grin as the warrior charged, mace hanging low. He ducked under the sweeping first blow, only to catch a boot to the chest that sent him staggering back down the corridor. Blake wished Durge luck, and turned to face Ozpin. He was still in front of the door, his eyes resting solely on Amber.

"I understand Raven's interest in the witcher, but why are you risking so much for so little?" He asked.

"The world requires balance, order. The witcher schools you seek to destroy are a force of order, one that must be preserved in the wars to come. I came for you, not her." The gold threads of her cloak began to glow brighter.

Ozpin lifted his blade, and let the tip fall to just a inch above the ground. "Am I a force of chaos? I've seen the signs just the same as you. Progress is required for our survival, progress those schools forestall with their thievery."

Raven stepped forward and drew her blade, the bright blue glow nearly blinding Blake as she reached down for a dimeritium bomb. Amber extended her free hand, and the air around her hand seemed to come alive with glowing particles, a whirling storm that coalesced into a long staff. The crystal at the top of it exuded a bright golden glow that matched the fierce intensity of her cloak.

Ozpin leveled his sword at the pair, as the shadows around his feet began to writhe and contort. "Brave to challenge me here, only the two of you. When we last fought I slew Winter and Summer. Have new maidens been chosen, or has desperation forced your hand?" The shadows behind Ozpin pooled into him, and the silence seemed to grow stronger.

Amber thrust her staff into the ground, and her eyes glazed over, turning into solid gold. Blake felt her medallion almost tear off of her neck. The sheer magical power in the room was beyond her comprehension. "Your arrogance blinds you."

Raven spared a glance towards Blake, her own eyes solid red as the dragons emblazoned on her robe twisted and soared through the fabric. "Go get her. You'd only get in the way."

The corridor around Ozpin exploded inward in an instant, shards of golden rock and mossy tendrils seeking to imprison him and impale him. The shadows seemed to twist and take shapes of their own as Ozpin thrust his sword upwards, sending them crashing into the oncoming projectiles. The rock and moss were obliterated the second the darkness touched them, but that didn't seem to faze Amber, who now was glowing bright enough to banish the darkness from every inch of the corridor.

Her blade sang as she drew it, the runes on it flaring gold. She was standing one second, then halfway towards Ozpin in the next, staff and sword swinging for his chest. Raven matched her, her blade angling toward's his neck. His sword seemed to teleport to Raven's, as he leaned out of the way of Amber's sword, and his boot caught Amber's staff hand, before the battle moved beyond Blake's ability to track.

Blake didn't want to waste anymore time, so she turned and sprinted towards the door at the end of the hall, leaping over the shattered fragments of the corridor to do so. She had to get Yang out of there, now. If Raven and Amber lost, there would be nothing she could do against a power like Ozpin. As the battle rocked the very stone around her, Blake prayed for Raven and Amber.

______________________________________________  
(Ruby Rose, Vale Coliseum)

Ruby leaned back in her seat, enjoying the feeling of the crisp windy air blowing through her hair. After all that happened in the past few months, it felt nice to just take a moment to breathe. Next to her Weiss was trying to find the appropriate way to bite into the sandwich before her. Her posture was relaxed and open, something that had become more and more common ever since that afternoon. Ruby pushed that from her mind, this was just a day out with her friends.

Nora was leaning on Ren, who kept humming a tune that Ruby didn't recognize. Nora smiled and joined in, tracing a finger along Ren's outfit edge in step with the melody. Ruby glanced at the other huntsmen in training around them, all wearing whatever casual clothing was available to them. It was the first time in weeks that everyone had a day off, together. Even with classes suspended, many huntsmen had been called to the border to deal with Grimm and monsters, and the occasional skirmish with Redanian border parties. Ruby had been on patrol duty in the poorer districts of Vale for the past two weeks, keeping order as unrest and food shortages grew.

It felt good to relax, if only for a few hours. "Hey Pyrrha," Ruby called over her shoulder, "When does Jaune's fight start?"

Pyrrha stopped talking with Sky for a second to consider the question, "It should start fairly soon. I think we're all just waiting for Ozpin." Ruby nodded thanks and waved to Sky, the poor huntsmen-to-be had been out of his mind with grief ever since Cardin went missing.

Jaune was one of the volunteers to fight in the arena for the charity event. Admission fees were going to helping re-arm the Vale military and to pay the families of those lost at Kaer Morhen for their loved one's service. Ruby had offered to volunteer, but Ozpin told her that she wasn't allowed to be down in the fight pits for this one, he thought she would want to be in the stands more.

Why's that? Ruby had asked.

The surprise at the end. Ozpin had replied, but his voice and eyes radiated sadness as he did so.

The same Ozpin that was curiously missing. Punctuality had always been his strongest suit. "Hey Weiss, any idea where Ozpin is?"

Weiss stopped halfway through a bite to glare at her, before finishing. "How should I know? I've been sitting here as long as you have, dolt." She gave a small half grin at the last word.

It was Glynda who answered that question for them. She strolled into the main booth and slammed the bell for their attention.

"Attention all. Ozpin is currently indisposed, but wishes you a fun day here at the arena. I will preside over the fights, starting with Jaune Arc facing off against visiting huntsmen trainee Sun Wukong."

The crowd gave a cheer as Jaune entered the arena. Wearing his full plate, the heavyset white armor covered him from the neck down. He swung his broadsword around in one hand, and stretched his shield arm to the appeal of the crowd. His opponent wasn't someone Ruby recognized, but he entered the arena with a smile and a wave to the crowd.

"Why do you think he came here?" Ruby whispered

"I don't know" Weiss said, "just watch the fight, you can ask him later."

Sun was wearing a light leather chest piece, greaves, and gauntlets. The parts of his bare arms and legs that Ruby could see rippled with muscle as he swung his two nunchucks around with ease, his display matching Jaune's to the crowd's delight. Both faced each other and gave a nod of respect, before turning towards Glynda in the main booth. She looked down at both fighters, who bowed their heads in respect, before nodding in satisfaction. She rose both arms and opened her mouth to speak.

The booth exploded, a shower of debris raining down on the arena floor as the crowd screamed in shock and terror. Shock and horror filled Ruby as Glynda herself was thrown forward out of the booth, her outfit billowing smoke as she slammed into the far arena wall with a sickening crack. Beside her Pyrrha gasped, and Nora swore. The crowd around them was streaming for the exits, shouts of panic and anger all mingling together into a deafening sound that left Ruby confused and disoriented. Who would do this? Why would anyone do this?

"Ruby. Ruby. Ruby!" Weiss shouted over the crowd's panic, shaking her to attention. "We need to help, come on."

Ruby let Weiss lead her forward, and spared a glance at the booth. The billowing plumes of smoke had spread as the flames devoured what little had remained of the booth before moving on to the stands around them. While the outer arena was stone, most of the inner arena relied on wooden supports and additions, all of which could go up in smoke. The city guard was pouring into the arena, weapons barred and eyes alert as they screamed orders to the crowd. Their metal helms and chain-mail shirts glowed silver in the fire-light, and slowly some of the crowd marshaled around them, along with most of the huntsmen out of armor. Ruby realized what they were doing, a bucket line to put out a fire.

Weiss wasn't taking her to the bucket line, she was taking her to Glynda. Jaune and Sun were already there, kneeling next to the sorceress. Ruby finally wrested herself free from Weiss grip and approached with caution. It wasn't a pretty sight, her aura had shattered in the explosion. Her face was marred with burns, the sickening smell of her seared flesh almost sent Ruby to her knees, but she had to remain standing. In her classes it had been hammered home that when dealing with wounded townspeople not to panic, no matter how bad it was. She figured that wasn't bad advice here. Weiss was also speechless beside her, and Ruby heard her gag softly at the sight of Glynda.

"How can we help?" Ruby asked, and Jaune turned to her.

"I'm going to try and heal her. Weiss, any magical support you can give would be appreciated. Ruby, use your semblance to go get some medicine." Jaune glanced at his own team, "Pyrrha, take charge of the bucket line, we can't do much more here." They nodded, and turned to leave, the current crises overtaking the need for words. Sun silently slipped off to join them, weapon in hand.

Ruby was about to leave when Glynda spoke, "Medicine won't be required." Her voice was raspy and hoarse, and Ruby was surprised she was able to speak at all so soon. "Jaune, keep at it. The rest of you, wait a moment. I have to tell you something."

Ruby looked back at Glynda, trying hard to ignore her partial nudity as her clothes burned themselves away, revealing somewhat pale skin beneath. She bled from a dozen different pieces of embedded shrapnel, each a piece of the chair behind her. Her blond hair was black and red with soot and blood, and a trickle of blood ran down her forehead into one eye. Jaune grimaced beside Ruby before placing his hands on Glynda, one on the forehead and the other on her midriff. Each hand began to glow a faint blue as Jaune concentrated. His own body pulsed blue, each wave causing a faint sheen of gold to envelop Glynda. Ruby watched in fascination as Glynda's own aura surged forward again, and the damage began to faintly recede. There would be scars, and alot of them, but Jaune would be saving her life regardless.

Weiss knelt down and motioned for Ruby to do the same. She began to gingerly try and pick the pieces of shrapnel out of Glynda's chest and stomach, as Ruby did the same for the arms. Her aura was still weak, and it let them in with minimal resistance. Ruby tried to focus on the work of extracting fragments, ignoring Glynda's twitches of pain and the occasional grunt as she did so. It was hard to forget this was one of her teachers, a huntress so established Ruby considered her untouchable, now at death's door in the bloodied sand of a fighting arena from one explosion.

"Hang in there." She whispered, only to elicit a chuckle from Glynda herself.

"Your concern is touching child, but I've been through worse. Your help is appreciated, and its always good to see your own students maturing." Jaune smiled and said nothing as he kept healing. Her face of bravado was for them, not her, and they silently indulged her.

Ruby kept picking for a while, listening as the orders of the city guard behind her grew less frantic and more controlled as the blaze began receding under the continuous barrage of bucketed water. It was a relief, if the blaze had managed to spread itself into the lower half of Vale then the entire city might have burned to the ground.

Then the ground itself in the middle of the arena exploded upwards, sending sand skyrocketing upwards around the three figures that fought in the midst of the chaos. Ruby gaped as they moved beyond her ability to track, their blows sound carried even to the arena floor. Together the trio spiraled upwards, flashes of gold, black and red rippling across the sky.

"Holy shit." Sun whistled, "Anyone else wondering what the fuck is happening?"

Glynda swore from the ground and tried to rise, but Jaune held her down and shook his head. "You are in no condition to fight. Especially against...that."

"I know. Ozpin has dealt with them before, he can manage by himself. However we should vacate the area, for our safety."

Weiss shook her head, "You are in no position to move, and we can't just leave you."

Above them, the fighter encased in a writhing mass of blackness let out a cry and brought his sword downwards towards the green cloaked warrior. The air itself shook as she plummeted to the ground and struck the sandy arena with enough force to shake the floor. Sand erupted around her as the wall near her cracked. As she staggered to her feet, Ruby finally got a closer look at her.

In a green cloak that was a blaze with swirling golden lace, the woman radiated magical power that was beyond aura. Her golden armor was beautiful, but it was scorched and cracked in places. Her blade's glow was diminished, but still vibrant. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face, but she didn't seem to care, her eyes of solid gold turned skyward as she raised her staff. Ruby was forced to avert her eyes as the staff flared. Clouds gathered and swirled, blocking the sun and turning the arena gloomy, the only light cast by the flickering blaze as the bucket chain strained to continue with the fight happening so near.

Ruby fell to her knees and clutched her ears in pain as three massive bolts of lightening struck Ozpin, the sound was deafening as the thunder echoed. Ozpin struck the ground several feet from Ruby, his armor smoking and charred. Ozpin sank his sword into the ground and used it as leverage to rise, panting with the effort. His shoulders had a slight slump, and one of his spectacles was cracked.

"Ozpin?" Ruby asked, unable to stop her voice from quivering.

He glanced at her, and gave her a small smile, "I'll be fine. I've dealt with them before. Jaune, I need you to head to the lower sub-levels. Door 34, find the escaped witcher and bring her back."

Jaune's eyes went wide, but he didn't remove his hands from Glynda. "But what about..."

"She'll be fine. Trust me, now go." Ozpin's voice turned hard.

Ruby watched as Jaune reluctantly rose and ran for the exit, hands returning to normal as he rounded the corner and disappeared. She desperately wanted to be the one going, helping, doing anything, but there was nothing she could do, not even when it was her own sister. Without Crescent Rose she couldn't fight, and her weapon was all the way back at Beacon. She spared a glance at Weiss, who shared a similar look of frustration as Ozpin took up a defensive stance. His black plate mail seemed to drink in the shadow beneath him, drawing it up in a type of defensive barrier.

Across from him, the two women raised their blades. Ruby felt her unease grow as she saw the dragons swirling around the red woman's robe, her blade glowing a deep yellow. "You will atone for your sins."

Ozpin raised his sword and smiled, "Coming from the woman that ran from hers."

The woman snarled and moved like lightning, crossing 50 meters of ground faster than Ruby could track. One moment she was still, the next a storm of blows rained down on Ozpin's guard. Ozpin's guard was solid stone, his blade meeting hers blow for blow as they lunged back and forth across the sand. The woman fought with grace, her body fluid and flexible to Ozpin's uncompromising precision. He didn't even flinch as the other woman joined the fray. Each moved faster than Ruby could track, their fight taking up most of the arena. Blades met so fast that there appeared to be 5 different swords all over the arena, each striking with intent to kill. She could tell Ozpin was giving ground, slowly but surely being pushed onto the back foot. The red woman ducked under Ozpin's sword slash and lunged, her blade piercing his veil of shadow and driving through his chest.

Fear and dread raced through Ruby as the woman kicked Ozpin down off of her blade, where he landed on the top of the arena wall with enough force to shatter it. The green woman raised her staff and blade towards the sky, and a lightning bolt bigger than anything Ruby had ever seen struck Ozpin, who let out an audible scream of pain at the impact. The ground trembled with the strike, and the shockwave knocked Ruby and Weiss off of their feet. As she struggled to her feet, ears temporarily deaf, the red woman dove, holding her blade with both hands. The speed of the dive was too fast the track, but Ozpin anticipated the strike. One moment she was in the sky, the next moment her sword was cleaving through Ozpin's black blade and deep into his shoulder. Blood dripped over his armor as his sword shattered into dozens of different fragments, leaving him defenseless and kneeling from such a powerful strike.

"Ozpin!" Ruby cried out.

Ozpin was there one moment, and gone the next. He appeared in front of the red woman and kicked her upper ribcage, sending her across the arena and into the back wall. The wall cracked and the woman collapsed with a grunt onto the ground, and Ruby thought she saw the faintest flicker of aura as the dragons on her robe roared in pain. The next second Ozpin's fist connected with the green woman's jaw, cracking her head back at an obscene angle as she landed next to her comrade, her green cloak not as bright as before. Ozpin fell to the dirt, his chest bleeding openly, staining the sand a deep crimson. Ruby took a moment to process what just happened, it was as if Ozpin was moving through time itself.

"I apologize that you had to see this." Ozpin grimaced.

His face contorted into a hideous wrinkled mirror of itself, as a small snout seemed to emerge. Perhaps more unsettling was how his hands elongated into slender claws, their tips razor sharp. He snarled in rage, unwilling or unable to speak anymore. A mixture of apprehension and horror filled Ruby as she saw what he had become. A part of her refused to connect the monster before her with the warm patron of Beacon that almost raised her. Ozpin brandished his claws and drew them across one another, the screeching sound a painful challenge to all in his sight. The two woman rose to their feet, and raised their blades. Their feet lifted off the ground as the very winds seemed to gently lift them up, the gusts returning the ground with such force as to almost knock Ruby off her feet again.

Both of their mouths spoke, but not in words that Ruby could understand. The very sky thundered a challenge to the lone figure before it. Ozpin didn't seem fazed, and snared his reply as the two women dove. Ozpin leapt up to meet them. Their first blow shook the ground dozens of feet below them, before the ground beneath them opened. The arena erupted with tendrils of water, each separating into a lance that froze as it hurled towards Ozpin. He deflected the red woman's blade before slashing her chest. She staggered back, but no blood appeared. Ozpin himself continued fighting, unfazed by the torrent of ice daggers that shattered against his armor every second. After another minute of fighting too fast for Ruby to track, the gold woman pivoted mid-strike and feinted low, bypassing Ozpin's guard. Dark black blood splattered the arena floor as he crashed through the upper level of the coliseum and crashed somewhere down in the lower city.

Both women charged after him, eyes blazing fury as they did so. Another flash of fear raced through Ruby, had Ozpin bitten off more than he could chew? Glynda coughed next to her, and sat up. Ruby and Weiss both turned to ease her back down, but her stare cut them down in their tracks.

"We have to find Qrow, now." Her voice brokered no argument.

"Why? What can he do to help against..." Weiss gestured towards the shattered arena, "all this?"

"He has friends. Mage friends. We'll need them to contain the damage once Ozpin's forced to stop holding back." Glynda started for the entrance, brushing past other dazed and awestruck on-lookers, who gaped at the empty space of sky where a fight between demi-gods had raged but moments ago.

Glynda paused to address them for a moment. "Start the evacuation to Beacon, tell everyone to help out. Avoid engaging with the fight, you won't help."

A few heads nodded and began to move with her towards the exit. Weiss followed, helping Glynda move. She paused a moment, and looked over her shoulder questioningly as Ruby didn't follow. She raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Ruby shook her head, there was something she needed to do. Someone she needed to face. "I'll catch up."

"Be safe." Weiss whispered, her eyes lingering on Ruby's before she slowly turned and lead Glynda into the stream of huntsmen. Ruby sighed, the finality of the sentence wasn't lost on her. There was a chance they might not meet again, given the chaos that raged around them.

Ruby turned and started jogging towards the sub-levels, stopping only to snag a small threadbare dagger from the corpse of a trampled merchant. Her demon awaited.

__________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Hell)

Yang had barely noticed or cared that the room had started shaking around her, the low rumble interrupting Mercury as he poured yet another bucket on her. Her body had long since lost its energy, and her will to think or resist had faded with it. Only a few instinctual jerks were left in her, and even those were starting to grow dull to her tormentor. Her vision faded in and out, the darkness creeping in from the edges as his face came into view. He slapped her, driving her head to the side of the board. Yang coughed up another burst of water-logged vomit before falling still again.

"Come on, give me something. You aren't giving up that easy on me." His voice was far off and distant as the ceiling shuddered, dumping dust and pebbles into the room.

Her entire body had long since gone numb, Yang wasn't sure she could even feel pain anymore. The effort it took to move, to try in vain to avoid the pain, the torment, was too much. Yang had long since realized she was winning, that death was marching ever closer to her. At the time, it had brought forth her first laugh in ages, but she was beyond laughter now. Her world was patience and pain, waiting for her savior to come for her. Some pictured death as a lover, a sister, a mentor, a spirit. Yang thought they were all wrong, Death was a parent, come to ease the suffering of its child and bring them home. Perhaps this would be how she would finally meet her mother, her real mother.

A pair of hands heaved her back onto her back, and waved in front of her eyes. Yang blinked, and nothing else. A fist drove itself into her gut, but she barely moved. "You see, this is what I always found interesting about torture." Mercury said as he brought the towel back towards her face. Yang almost welcomed the darkness, it brought death ever closer.

Something collided with the door, which buckled and held. Mercury scowled and turned towards the door. "Looks like Ozpin is busy with something. I'll let him deal with that, while I deal with you." He grabbed the bucket, ignoring the caked vomit and blood that lined it as he brought it over her head.

"As I was saying, torture always fascinated me because it lets you really see a person." Yang didn't react to his monologue, she had long since grown accustomed to his sadistic ramblings. The water leaking through the towel drew a half-hearted kick, but Yang welcomed the water. It seemed right somehow, that the bringer of life would now deliver the escape of death.

"People say love lets you see a person, but I don't think that's true." Mercury stopped pouring for a moment, "Do you princess?" Yang didn't answer.

Mercury chuckled and started pouring again, "Love only shows you one part of a person. Torture though....it lets you see them all. As you systematically peel away each tiny layer, you see a person for the whole that they are. Love only shows you one layer, but I get to see it all." The water was filling up her lungs now, and her chest began to dry heave as her arms convulsed and cramped. It was almost formulaic at this point.

"Now I've tortured a lot of different people. Some for Cinder, some for money, and some for myself. Each and every time there is one thing that remains the same." He yanked her head up and forced her to look into his eyes. Mercury searched for something, and in finding nothing, smiled. "Their eyes at the end. The same eyes my father had before I killed him."

This time the entire room rocked as a loud explosion sounded from right outside the hallway. Mercury let Yang's head drop to the side again, and she watched as all of the bloody tools fell onto the floor, their sharpened edges dulled by her own blood and waste, caked in grit and dirt. She had marked them just as they had marked her. They both were sprawled lifelessly on the floor and table as the coliseum itself shook around them.

For the first time in hours, Mercury stopped focusing on her as he stepped over the overturned tools and drew a short sword that hung at his belt. Clad in a butcher's apron and wearing only metal greaves, he wasn't an intimidating figure. Especially since Yang already knew what was walking through that door, her savior, death itself. She wondered if all the peasant stories about the hood and cloak were true, then decided it didn't matter. As long as she got out of this room, Yang didn't care. Mercury took up a position by the side of the door, and tightened his grip on the short-sword.

The door to the hallway blew inward on a wave of blue light that slammed it against the opposite wall. Yang's mind dully registered the use of Aard as a figure stepped through the doorway, sword raised and already moving to intercept Mercury's lunge. Yang's mind crawled slowly around the scene before her, taking in everything at a snail's pace. The specter of death was a witcher. She supposed that made sense, a mirror image of your life to greet you in death. Mercury leapt backwards and tried to kick out with a metal greave, only to have a blade cut his leg out from underneath him. Her vision faded in and out, and another fit of coughs seized her as she struggled to clear her water-logged lungs.

The room was quiet now, silent save for Yang's labored breathing. Yang's vision came back in slowly as another stream of liquid exited her mouth, dripping down onto Mercury's shoulder. He was on the floor. Yang's mind digested that for several seconds before it hit her. He was dead, disemboweled what must have been moments ago. Yang didn't have the energy left to care, knowing that this was all just another one of Emerald's elaborate ruses, designed to prey on all her hopes and prayers. Standing over Mercury was a familiar illusion, Blake. This time Emerald had given her only one sword, Gambol. A cheap wool cloak covered most of her armor, and there was no witcher medallion against her chest. A look of horrified revulsion was on her face as she surveyed the room that been Yang's hell for however long it had been.

"Yang?" Her voice shook as she slid Gambol back into its sheath and approached. Her eyes filled with bittersweet joy as she ran over and began examining her for wounds.

Yang didn't answer, and let her look. Emerald had used all of her friends against her before, she wouldn't let herself be so easily fooled again. Blake brought her face inches from Yang's, her eyes probing for any reaction. "Yang, talk to me. Any internal injuries?"

Blake's eyes widened with anguish as Yang didn't reply. Even in her pitiful state her heart twisted a fraction upon seeing the look in her friend's eyes. Yang tried to focus on the ceiling past Blake, reminding herself that none of this was real. Blake stopped talking to her, and started working on her. Yang weakly tried to protest as a glass bottle was forced into her mouth, the potion inside flooding the back of her mouth. Before Yang could reflexively try and vomit it back out Blake's hand gently cupped her mouth as the other forced her nostrils shut.

"Yang, please. I just want to help you." Blake's voice was low, as if scared to draw the attention of something outside. Yang was forced to swallow the potion, the White Rafford sliding down her throat with ease.

The curative effects helped clear her lungs of the remaining sludge, but did little else to restore her body. Mercury had fortunately held no esteem in the elaborate toxins some torturers swore by. Yang savored the taste of the first somewhat filling substance she'd had in days, so much so that she didn't object as Blake hoisted her over her shoulders, draping her weight across her neck and upper back.

"Just hold on. I've got you Yang. I'm here now. I'm here now." Blake's voice was distant, and not entirely aimed at her as she started towards the door.

____________________________________________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Vale Sewers)

Blake kept focused on just taking one step after another, trying not to think about the horror of the room she had found Yang in. Infected instruments on every surface and the floor, sharpened tips coated in her best friend's blood. Then there was Yang herself, barely clinging to life on a table drenched in her blood, vomit, and shit. Wrists chaffed raw and bleeding from the ties, arms and legs covered in scabs and open wounds, puss oozing down several of the infected cuts. Her normally lustrous golden hair was tangled, matted, and cover in blood and grime. The worst part for Blake was her eyes, the way they stared lifelessly into her. She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't no reaction at all.

Even now, as they marched further down the sewers, Yang hung limp against her shoulders. Her arms dripped scarlet into the murky sludge below. Blake glanced over her shoulder, the sewer's moss covered expanse stretching on beyond sight, no followers to be seen. Durge was no-where to be found, likely dead by Raven's brother. Yang's breathing rang in her ears, each raspy breath following its own rhythm. Blake clung to each flash of warm air against her ear, the only proof the body on her shoulders was still living.

"Hang on Yang. We're almost there." The words sounded hollow even as they left her throat, but they were all Blake could offer to Yang right now.

Unable to do much aside from a cursory inspection and give Yang a White Rafford to clear her system, Blake was helpless to do much aside from pray until she could get Yang to a safe place. In her current condition a swallow might kill her weakened body. Even witchers could be pushed past their limits, and Blake couldn't risk sending Yang into a seizure in the middle of what was rapidly turning into a collapsing coliseum.

Above her, another massive shock sent the water at Blake's feet crashing against the sides of the sewer. Blake hoped that Raven and her comrade were still winning the fight. Her spine crawled as she remembered the way the shadows seemed to envelope Ozpin, protecting him. At the very least, Raven was buying her time. Blake gritted her teeth and lowered her head, she was going to make the most of it.

Blake was at the sewer mouth when she heard it, a sound filled with inevitability. A metal boot struck the cobbled stone of the sewer behind her, faint yet firm as the sound grew persistently louder. Blake stopped, and inhaled. She had been so close to escaping without a fight, but with Yang on her shoulders there was no way she could outrun or outmaneuver her pursuer. Blake eased Yang off of her shoulders, and set her upright against a railing. She stirred faintly, her eyes glancing upward for a moment to meet Blake's eyes.

So many different things to say all crashed together at once, and Blake couldn't decide. In the end, she said nothing in favor of a small, sad smile. As the bootsteps grew louder, Blake turned towards the sewer depths. Her hand tightened around Gambol as she drew it from the sheath, the faint glow of Hanged Man's Venom visible in the fading light of the day. She shrugged off her cloak and glanced at water below her, its murky depths reached up to her ankles. Just high enough for what she needed.

Her free hand brushed the dimeritium bombs at her belt, and the two vials of Blizzard she had made the night before. If it was as she feared, and Ozpin was the one marching up the sewer, she would need every boost to her reflexes she could muster in order to survive. Blake grabbed one vial and drank, the liquid slowly sliding down her throat as her skin turned a fainter shade of white and the world took on a saturated quality. Blake took a breath, and kept hold of the empty vial as she waited for her pursuer to draw closer.

Her ears twitched as the steps grew agonizingly close. Only enough for one person, Blake re-evaluated her arena. The sewer mouth was tight, but there was enough room to bring all of Gambol to bear, fortunately. After what she saw at Kaer Morhen, she felt she would need it. She had one advantage though, preparation. With a witcher, that was a big thing indeed.

"I don't suppose I can ask you to come quietly." A young voice said as a huntsman stepped out of the gloom towards her, his steps growing faster as he got a clearer view. Tall, blond, with a sword grip that was slightly too tight and a stance too wide for the shield he was carrying, Blake judged he was a huntsman in training.

"With how you treat your prisoners, no." Blake said, in no mood for conversation. For all she knew he was one of the people who helped break her best friend. The very thought of it made her entire body ignite in rage.

The man looked once at Yang, and frowned. "That wasn't me."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, you can still do the right thing."

Blake lowered her center of gravity, ears flattening at the hollow words. What made it worse was that she could tell he believed them. "Was it the right thing to torture her? To sack Kaer Morhen?"

The man grimaced, and slowly shook his head. "I don't know, and I can't tell you. All I know is I trust the law to keep peace and order. The same law you now flout."

Blake spared a glance back at Yang, her breathing shallow and weak against the railing. What kind of law did that in the name of order? "Peace and order to who? Kings and human cities? What of the farmers, the elves, the dwarves, the faunus? I stopped trusting the law the second it started putting them to the sword."

The man in front of her scowled, "Mistakes happen. That doesn't allow you to start terrorizing innocents. If witchers really do care about creating peace and stability, then you'll surrender quietly and stand trial."

His grip tightened on the longsword in his hand, and he shifted his weight forward slightly. Blake's eyes tracked his movements before he even seemed to make them, the blizzard conferring almost super-human awareness to her.

"Stand trial? For the crime of being different?" Witchers knew all about trials. It wasn't uncommon for a peasant mob to form in some small village at a moment's notice, burning a witcher at the stake for being a monster. Conveniently after he had come to collect his pay of course. Vale had spoken for itself when it put Kaer Morhen on trial for a crime nobody knew, and appointed an army as the executioner.

"For killing innocents." The man growled and charged.

Blake thought back to the slaughtered villagers, who offered their own children up to foul covens for food. She doubted innocence even existed anymore. She took a step back and threw the vial at the man's face, hand dancing as he brought an armored forearm to block the projectile. In doing so he missed Blake casting Yrden, and stepped into the purple circle without warning, the runes submerged beneath the murky sewage.

Her already mutated reaction speed enhanced by the blizzard potion and her opponent sluggishly fighting through the magical sap of yrden, Blake was lightning. Gambol struck with precision as the huntsman tried to use his shield to block her advance. Blake targeted the exposed ankles, elbows, and right shoulder for her assault. Gambol's venomous edge scoring minor cuts as his sword moved to intercept, always several seconds behind as Blake continued pressing. The huntsman's face began to drip sweat as he took a few steps backwards, trying to backpedal out of the glyph circle. His white armor was enveloped in the glowing shroud of his Aura, the poisonous taint of the Hanged Man's Venom barely visible.

Blake felt the Yrden circle fade beneath her as the man redoubled his charge, eyes focused and determined. He was keeping his shield bared and facing her blade, so Blake switched tactics. She swapped Gambol to her other hand before rushing forward to meet his charge, refusing to surrender the momentum. If he kept the momentum his aura would allow him to outlast her until help arrived, something she couldn't allow.

He swung, longsword arching towards her left shoulder, Blake leaned right and let the blade pass her by as she thrust for his throat. His shield was there to stop the blow, and he thrust forward to throw her off balance. Blake leapt backwards and parried his sword strike, ducking under the next as he spun and slashed at her throat. His shield's effectiveness was mitigated by Blake's use of her other arm, turning mainly into a save all defense for when a sword parry failed.

Blake charged again as he tried to break off and adjust his stance, Gambol lunging forward towards his wrist. His speed and technique were admirable, he was obviously training under a very skilled warrior. His longsword made a valiant effort, but Blake had trained almost her entire life under the best swordsman in the Northern Kingdoms, and her witcher reflexes turned Gambol into a blur as they dueled. Blake ducked under a horizontal slash, before parrying the spinning downward blow he transitioned into. She realized the first strike had been a feint as her arms jarred under the blow and her knees gave the slightest fraction.

He thrust his shield forward to knock her off her feet for the killing blow, but Blake dropped low, letting herself become partially submerged in the water below as the thrust passed overhead. She kicked his metal greave, feeling his joint give a fraction as she thrust one arm upward, spewing a continuous stream of fire up through the now extended gap between his shield and body. The huntsman screamed as he brought his sword down to pierce Blake's exposed throat, but she was already rolling. The blade bit into her shoulder pad, slicing through the chain and leaving a long and shallow gash on her upper shoulder.

Blake tried to rise, but the huntsman kept advancing, his aura glowing bright enough to force her eyes to adjust rapidly. How was his aura strong enough to withstand that? Even with the blizzard coursing through her veins, Blake couldn't dodge the metal greave he slammed into her gut, right into three ribs, including the one she had recently cracked. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her and pain exploded in her side. One hand tightened on Gambol as she reached into her belt for the dimeritium bomb resting there, she would need to have perfect timing or else she would die.

She thrust Gambol out parallel to the huntsman, her hand crudely signing the symbol for Aard around the hilt. A somewhat weaker blast of blue force sent the him onto his back foot, delaying the sword strike aimed for her head long enough for her other arm to throw the dimeritium bomb against his shield. The casing exploded into a cloud of green dust that seemed to ignite and flash as it absorbed his aura and the residue from Blake's sign. Blake saw his aura flash and flicker in a defiant effort to outlast the bomb, an impossible task as it withered and failed seconds later.

Her path clear, Blake rolled to her side and slashed with Gambol, the edge slicing across the exposed back-knee joint as his sword slashed downwards to where her head had rested moments before. The blade by the hilt dug into part of her scalp, sending blood flowing down the side of her head as the huntsman felt a knee collapse from under him. He gave a grunt of shock and surprise as Blake thrust upward with her boot, catching him in the chin and sending him toppling backwards into the same sewage.

Blake rolled to her feet, as the huntsman staggered to his. His pristine white armor was marred with grime and sewage, his right greave covered with his own blood as he brought his shield down to cover it, favoring his other leg. He was wounded and less mobile, exactly what Blake wanted. She darted forward, and slashed at his left cheek. He fell back onto his good foot and brought his sword to bear again, slowed by a poor balance and weak stance.

This time it was even easier to pierce his guard, as Blake feinted low and reversed to leave a cut across his shoulder guard and cheek. With each cut she made, he grew slower as the Hanged Man's Venom did its work. Unable to pierce his mastercrafted armor and unyielding shield, Blake would have to go around them. His guard stance lowered a fraction as he panted, fighting for air that no longer seemed to sustain him, his own body turning against him.

"What poison is this?" He didn't wait for an answer, and charged forward, shield raised. Perhaps he knew his time was growing short, or perhaps his rage and desperation were overcoming his sense of better judgement.

Unable to cast a sign, Blake rolled backwards before gripping Gambol with two hands and raising it. The downward blow struck with enough force to halt his charge and send him staggering back a step, longsword still thrusting forward as his shield dropped from arms no longer able to hold its weight. Blake lunged forward, dodging to the side of his sword as she brought Gambol up to bear, and rammed it through his lower chest.

Blake could feel his blood trickle onto her hand as he slowly went into shock in her arms. His longsword plunged into the bloody sewer water as his fingers stopped working properly. He coughed up a mouthful of blood onto Blake shoulder as she held him upright.

"May the brother guide you." She whispered into his ear, and removed Gambol from his chest, leaving him to sink into the sewer water. Blake didn't bother wiping the blood off of Gambol before returning it to her sheath, she still had to get Yang out of the city. Hoisting her best friend back onto her back, Blake turned and left, leaving her foe to die along in the muck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously alot has happened this episode of Witcher Ball RWBY. Bear with me here. 
> 
> Elder Vampires don't fuck around, in witcher lore. So when I included them, I obviously needed a equally ridiculous counter-balance, and I thought the maidens fit the bill nicely. Obviously I'll expand more on this later down the line, but the point was never to make them seem like beatable or fightable. I wanted to hammer home the point that they could roflstomp Geralt to Ruby to Blake. If you think I went about it the wrong way, the writing was poor, etc, I'm glad to hear about it. This is one of my first writing attempts and my first kinda "superpower" fight. Feedback welcome!
> 
> This reunion was also kinda a cop out, since Yang is barely conscious and half dead- but hopefully this wasn't too disappointing for everyone. I re-wrote the scene a few times, but I never could make a gushy conversation work, given the context. Again, feedback appreciated. I'll need it for when (IF!) Blake and Yang get to sit down and have a moment in the next chapter. 
> 
> And finally Jaune. First off, I know some of you are going to roll your eyes (I know it doesn't really count as changing it if you just kill Jaune instead of Pyrrha, but it made more sense in my head). This was something I wrestled with, because its not only a key character development point for Blake (and others later), but also because it is one of the few defining moments that really let the author define the tone a bit more in a scene. This is witcher / RWBY, and neither show has backed away from letting characters die. I figured I shouldn't do that either. That being said, I'm always open to feedback on if I executed the fight well enough, if it was believable, paced well, etc. I ultimately sat down and decided that Blake has been training with master swordsmen for over a decade, and is faster and potientally (I haven't decided how strong witchers should be, Geralt cuts dudes in plate clean in half in game, so idk) stronger than Jaune, with the tactical advantage. I didn't see any reasonable scenario in which he walked away from that alive except Blake let him live, and I didn't see any reason for her to do that. 
> 
> Thanks for letting me rant, I love you all for reading, love to hear from everyone, and thank you so much for reading, commenting, (kudoing? liking? favoriting? idk) 
> 
> Cheers!


	13. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang and Blake begin the long and confusing road ahead of them. Raven confronts one of her demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead! (again.)
> 
> So, this is gonna be a bit shorter. I've got a metric fuck ton of stuff coming up so I decided to cut this one short, since I probably won't be able to post for a month or two. THIS DOES NOT MEAN THE WORK IS DEAD. I've said it before, I'll say it again, this isn't dead until I say it is. I wouldn't do that to you guys (and myself).
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy the read!

_____________________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long, Vale Forests)

The smell of ash and smoke woke her, body exploding in pain as it tried to jolt upright and numerous wounds protested. She let out a small gasp before falling before falling backwards onto something soft. She was in a bedroll, in what looked like some kind of tent. Brown canvas stretched out above her, the shadows of the campfire nearby dancing across the fabric to music she couldn't hear. Yang watched the dance for a moment, trying to remember everything that had happened. Only fragments came to her at first, a dirty room, knives, a bucket of water...

Yang threw up as that memory came rushing back on a primal level. Endless struggling, drowning for what seemed like ages on the edge of death. Lungs that burned as her mind sank further into mindless torment. She panted as only a tiny stream of salvia dripped from her mouth. That was a symptom of something important, but her mind didn't have the will or the energy to remember. Instead she sat up and took stock of herself and her surroundings. A small table with several vials was to her left, with a small bundle of supplies and another bedroll on the opposite side of the table. Yang looked down and began to inspect herself.

Her arms were laced with tender pink flesh, recently grown to cover various burns and small cuts. Several new scars had joined those from her years on the path, grim reminders that Emerald and Mercury had left more than mental marks. Yang paused to collect herself for a moment before gently removing the loose tunic to reveal her chest. More scars and tender flesh covered it, with a small piece of burned skin on her left side. A large scar ran from the middle of her right breast to her belly, and Yang fell backwards as the memory leapt unbidden into her mind.

Vesemir scowling at her with his rusty trophy hook in hand, his eyes filled with contempt as he surveyed her wretched form. Pathetic. No Wolf of mine would let themselves get caught by a bunch of upstart brats with sticks. If you want to be their war-trophy from Kaer Morhen then act like it. Yang clutched her chest at the memory of that hook tearing into her right breast, her pleading with him to stop.

"That...That wasn't real." But then why was the scar still there? The tent flap rustled on her left.

"Yang, you alright?" Blake pushed into the tent, her ears slanted as she focused on Yang.

"Yeah." A hollow lie neither believed, but what was one more lie in a world of illusions?

"How long have you been awake?" Blake knelt next to Yang's bedroll, and eased her back down to the cot.

Yang wasn't awake at all, she was in another one of Emerald's complex nightmares. Hope had been held beyond her reach for too many times. It held no promise save more suffering if Yang reached for it. "Not long."

"How do you feel?"

Yang didn't respond, and Blake didn't press. Yang felt her eyes taking in her chest scars with the same surgical precision all witchers possessed. Blake's movements were small, muted as if afraid to disturb Yang or even draw her attention, her breath catching as she took in the damage. Yang understood her caution, she was a broken thing prone to shatter at one unkind touch. Emerald was reminding Yang at how weak and pathetic she had become, and twisting the knife by using her best friend.

Blake eventually found the courage to check Yang's back, peeling away the bandages Yang didn't remember applying. It was slightly troubling that she hadn't felt them, even in her state. Yang winced as a lone finger traced a scar on her right shoulder blade, and said nothing as Blake reapplied the salve and bandages. Her back cooled into a pleasant numbness as she was rolled over, her weight pressing down on the medicinal salve. Blake's face came into view, leaning in close to hers.

"Yang..." Her voice was low and choked, Blake's eyes refused to meet Yang's for more than a second. Her eyes seemed so real, their amber depths filled with pain and...shame? Yang was glad Blake refused to look her in the eye, she couldn't bear to see her lifelong friend in such pain.

She didn't say anything. For once she was glad that the Blake in front of her was an illusion. She could barely resist the urge to pull her close, to feel her friend's warming presence once again, even if it was nothing more than a convenient fiction. Blake leaned back, sitting down on Yang's left with a small sigh. Yang fixed her eyes on the ceiling and tried to think about nothing at all. Her memories only served as ethereal monuments to her suffering, unending and unrelenting.

"I'm, I'm so so sorry Yang. I shouldn't have gone back to Kaer Morhen." A few drops of water landed on Yang's arm. It took a moment for her to realize that Blake was crying. "I failed you Yang. We were supposed to watch each other's backs, protect each other. Instead I let you walk into that forest alone."

Yang didn't look at Blake, couldn't bear to. She felt hollow inside, empty. Seeing Blake crucify herself because Yang wasn't skilled enough to avoid capture was a fresh agony. She wanted to speak, to say that it wasn't Blake's fault, that it didn't matter, that she was glad Blake was here, but no words came out. Yang felt herself slipping, sliding back into memories that held nothing but torment. She tried to clear her mind, but there was no stopping the demons that plagued her. As Mercury's face appeared before her, her pain came back in a tidal wave.

Blake eventually rose and left the tent, tears running down her cheeks. She wasn't sure what to expect, but to see Yang so broken as to not recognize reality...

Overwhelmed Blake sought out the solitude of the forest. She didn't know how to proceed, and she hoped she had an idea on how to convince Yang she wasn't an illusion.

"What have they done to you Yang?" The trees had no answers to give.

____________________________________________  
(Raven Branwen, Vale, 2 days later...)

Her left arm hung limp at her side, Ozpin's blade having cleaved through half of her shoulder. Her sleeve was in tatters and covered in blood, her blood. Her aura had at least managed to stop the bleeding once it flickered back to life, momentarily halting the onset of shock. Raven gritted her teeth and kept trudging deeper into the forest. Each step brought another lash of pain, as one cut or another screamed in protest. Morrigan weighed heavy in her arm, her belt discarded with one of Ozpin's slashes. Morrigan's sheath was cracked, and the blade inside it wasn't in much better shape.

Their fight had gone well at first, until Ozpin revealed his true form. Raven's stomach still knotted into a cold ball of fear at the sight of that monstrosity. Towering at a massive 10 meters tall, it had torn through entire buildings with effortless ease. Even after several lifetimes that eyeless visage haunted her. Grey skin pulled taunt over a blank head, decaying wings longer than most people, pale claws stained crimson. The speed and inhuman brutality as it cut her guard to pieces it possessed had no equal. Not even Amber could defend against him. Raven took a shaky breath and steadied herself against a tree.

Ozpin had torn Amber in half, his talons piercing straight through her armor and severing her spine in an instant. Her scream of agony cut short as his fangs tore her neck in half. Raven had watched her plummet from the sky, her aura fading away to leave nothing but a bloody husk. Ozpin's roar had shook the foundations of buildings and turned Raven's blood to ice. Then Raven was running, clumsily stumbling over the debris and carnage she had helped cause. Bodies and strewn pieces of broken homes clogged the streets as fires raged across the lower part of the city, all wasted sacrifices. Raven's revulsion at the damage she did was only momentary then, the need for survival overtaking all others. That same carnage saved her life, as Ozpin ignored her flight in order to attempt to restore order.

She kept walking, she needed to outdistance the hunting parties that would inevitably be sent out to find her and her men. Her second Kalam would be in charge, Raven knew he would keep to the plan and camp on the far side of the valley to the east of Vale. A two day walk at a hard pace. Though, more likely three or four days she admitted, hunching over to regain her breath once more. She wished Summer was here, her white armor had nearly blinded Raven, but she always had a quiet optimism and a warm smile that Raven loved. Not for the first time Raven wished she had said as much before she died.

Raven sighed and kept moving forward. As twilight fell on the forest, the birds began to move again, cautiously calling out to each other while the forest floor began to come alive. Raven watched as bushes rustled on the edges of her vision and squirrels raced around the branches above her. She let the pleasant sound of her boots crunching on leaves ease her mind for the time being. One thing at a time, survival before all else.

"You know, this isn't quite how I expected our second meeting to go." A familiar voice called from right behind her.

Raven tried to reach for her sword, but her limp arm refused. She grunted and slowly turned around. "Tai."

"Raven."

There he was, after all these years. Sitting atop an old chestnut mare, wearing nothing but the simple tunic of a farmer. His eyes held that same sad pity as the day she left him. Raven sighed and leaned against a tree, trying to hide the pain it caused her. "Why are you here Tai?"

"I came to talk." He set down the reins and studied her.

"Well, we're talking."

"About Yang." Raven's heart skipped a beat, and she cursed quietly. Of course this would happen, right when she was still trying to figure out if her daughter even survived.

"What about her?"

Tai as usual cut straight through her bullshit with a glance. It was part of the reason she fell in love with him, even though it frustrated her to no end. "Raven."

"Well what do you expect Tai? I left you with our daughter so she could lead some semblance of a normal life, and then she ends up a witcher. The first time I'll see her in over 20 years is when we're both half dead and traumatized. What do you even say in this situation?"

"You should have been there for her." His eyes held no judgement, and his voice was even. Raven hated that about him. When she had left him all those years ago she had expected screaming, throwing, accusations and hatred from him. Instead Tai had stood there with a serene look on his face, nodding and accepting her false promises of eventual return once the threat had faded. He just embraced her, holding her with such a sense of finality she knew he fully understood what she was about to do.

It was when she reached the door that Tai broke her heart. She'll need a family. One sentence, yet it knocked Raven off a cliff. Tearing her apart between her own greed and her love for her own daughter. Leaving her with an impossible choice. Yes she will. The whisper where Raven sold her own soul. It was that night, sitting alone amidst thoughts of her lover raising her daughter with someone else, and Yang growing up loving another woman as her mother, never knowing about her, that Raven turned to the bottle.

"You know why I couldn't." Raven was glad her face was behind a mask, so she didn't have to look him in the eye.

"She needed her mother."

"She got one." Raven couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. It still hurt to think about.

"Yang got a mother. There's a difference." Tai's face tried to hide it, but Raven could see the pain he tried to hide. As blatantly selfish as it was, a small part of her was glad it wasn't all perfect without her.

"Come on Tai, you know I wasn't cut out for motherhood."

"She still needed you to be there for her, especially when the witcher came."

I know that, you bastard. "And whose fault is that?" It was an unfair accusation on her part. They both knew that witchers broke no quarter when it came to the law of surprise. Tai had never been a fighter, just an awestruck farmer happy to show her the quieter side of life.

Tai finally looked away, his fists clenched against the reins. "I'm not a fighter, and you know what would've happened if I tried to stop him. I had another daughter to watch after."

Raven took a deep breath, and tried to keep her emotions in check. Her heart felt like it had been driven into the tree behind her. Of course he had another daughter with another woman. She stayed after all, she was there for his daughter. Get ahold of yourself, you left and moved on. So did he.

"A witcher coming knocking is better than what would have come if I stayed." Raven gestured Vale, burning barely in sight through the trees. "That would have been patch. I left for her sake, I did what I had to."

"Maybe. I understand why you think you needed to leave Raven," He nudged his horse towards her and offered her a hand. "She needed you once, and you weren't there. So be there for her now."

Raven stared at the outstretched hand, feeling like she was in limbo. She felt like she was drowning in the past, in her regrets. She reached out and let Tai pull her free, if only for a moment. Raven settled awkwardly behind him on the saddle.

"Hang on." Raven wrapped her arm around him, his body a warm and forgotten comfort.

"I'm, I'm sorry I had to leave." Raven finally admitted, the words feeling like raw spikes impaling her tongue as she said them.

She felt Tai sigh as they kept riding. "I don't forgive you, but I still love you Raven."

Raven sighed, feeling like a part of the weight that had been crushing her was lifted. The fact that Tai understood and still loved her was enough. Even though they could never repair the damage she caused between them, it was enough for Raven to know that some feeling still existed. Even though it still tore her heart apart to think about, she was happy Tai found someone that could provide what Raven had always wanted to, but never could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, shorter. Mainly because of reasons above and because everyone is half dead and kinda out of it. This is my first time (I know, I've said it before) doing torture/ romance/ everything, so hopefully this isn't a clusterfuck. Blake and Yang have a long road ahead, and I couldn't really see a heart to heart happening immeadiately, for reasons that hopefully are obvious in the actual work. Advice and feedback appreciated as always.
> 
> Raven is a bitch (to write). I love her, best birb hands down. But she is also a massive ball of self contradiction and virtue mixed in with sin. Hopefully I've been doing her character justice so far, but if not advice is appreciated. As for Tai, I decided against making him a 'fighter', since I couldn't see him as the soldier type and huntsmen are a relatively new thing, so it wouldn't make sense for a 40-50 year old huntsman to show up out of the blue. I always have no idea how old Tai is, so I'm assuming late 30's to late 40's. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'll try to update as fast as possible but life is getting crazy. Add onto that that this is proving to be very very very hard to write smoothly and I'm not going to make any promises. Love you all, thanks for reading. Love your feedback! Cheers!


	14. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby rushes after Jaune as Blake considers what she's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it sounds old. But again, this work is never dead until I say it is. I don't want to rush out a chapter and live was getting chaotic. I hope I haven't lost too many of you, I always hate the idea that someone gave up on this work because I didn't publish fast enough. 
> 
> Other than that, I hope you like this chapter and I want to express how awesome it is to have anyone reading what I've made, so thanks to everyone who read, commented, kudoed, etc. It means so much to me, so thanks :)

__________________________________  
(Ruby Rose, Vale, 2 days before...)

The underbelly of the coliseum had barely held together, and Ruby muttered hasty thanks to whoever built it as she edged around piles of cluttered stone and entire sections of collapsed walls. The fight above had taken a serious toll. Ruby still knew the basic layout, recalling her time competing in the Vytal tournament here a few years ago. She increased her pace, clenching her knife harder and scanning the darkness ahead of her. Ozpin had said door 34, but where was that? Half the numbers on these doors were scratched and faded beyond recognition, and the other's were obscured by the shadows that dominated the hallways. Ruby frowned but kept moving, examining each door as she passed. 42...38... she was getting closer. 

Ruby rounded a corner and knew she had arrived as she took in the carnage. The corridor was torn to pieces, the walls ripped apart at the far end of the corridor. Mangled chunks of root and wall lay in heaps on all sides as a faint stream of light shone down from the hole in the ceiling. Ruby nervously rubbed a thumb along her dagger's hilt as she walked down the hallway. She could feel the residue of the magic here. It wrapped around her aura like a fine mist, so potent its after-trail. It felt old, thick with the scent of elder magic. The walls around her were covered in deep gashes, cracks interwoven between them. Ruby ran a finger through one gash as she stepped past another rubble pile and close to the door. Only one thing was missing from the hallway, blood. The fact that none of the combatant's auras has shattered after such brutal close-quarters fighting was startling, if not terrifying. 

Oh sister of mine, what forces have you put into motion? 

Ruby pressed herself against the wall by the door and peered inside the room. A large door lay in a heap on the back wall, its metal coat bent and twisted as the wood beneath had fractured, splinters embedded like tiny spears in the gaps of the stone wall. Most of the room was covered in shadows, and Ruby took a moment to listen. No breathing, no rustling or shifting weight. The room ahead was devoid of the living, which meant her sister was either dead or had escaped. Ruby kept her knife close to her chest, ready to block any ambush that might await her before stepping into the room. No attack came forth, so Ruby relaxed enough to take a deeper look at her surroundings. 

"By the brother..." She leaned against a wall and fought down the urge to retch. The scent was awful, but faded. Ruby grimaced as she realized her hand had pressed into something sticky. She pulled her hand back and examined it, her fingers covered in a sickly red. Blood. My sister's blood. 

She wiped her fingers on her legging and took in the room. Dozens of instruments littered the floor and lone table. Ruby saw hooks, blades, needles, and many other instruments of depravity. Each was covered in Yang's blood and occasionally other fluids. Maggots crawled all over the floor, their pus mixing in with the blood and shit that already coated the floor. A small chair was tipped over in front of the table, cracked and splintered. A table was overturned along the far wall, its legs stained a deep green. Ruby walked over and nudged a leg with her boot. She gagged and covered her mouth as she realized it was vomit. 

This place... it makes me sick. Nobody deserves this, not even a witcher. 

A small cough from behind the table, and Ruby's knife was facing outward in an instant. She quietly moved to the side, ignoring the sickening sound of her boots stepping through her sister's dried blood. Ruby kicked the table to the side, revealing a curled up figure. It wasn't Yang. She felt strangely relieved. Why should I? She's a monster, no longer human. She tried to convince herself, but an image of a broken Yang limping through the destroyed ruins of the lower city refused to leave her mind. Ruby sighed, it was all so much easier when Yang was distant, unfeeling and cold. This room was an affront to what she so desperately wanted to believe. The truth held no comfort, Yang felt, understood pain, and her suffering was laid bare in this room. As much as she wanted to believe her sister was gone, replaced by some unfeeling machine, it was clear that some small shred of humanity remained. 

The body shifted again, and Ruby slowly stepped forward, knife leveled at the body. She knew who it was, the butcher's apron didn't hide the well used blue tunic that she had come to loathe at Beacon. Mercury shifted a fraction, his hands still clutched at his chest as he weakly spat out a clump of blood onto the table next to him. His metal greaves were coated in blood, one layer old and dried, the other fresh and fluid as it streamed down to pool on the floor. Ruby didn't want to see his face, to stare into those eyes, especially with what fevered madness had come over the dying man. 

"My finest work. Pain, so much pain. Shared..embraced...exchanged." He coughed again, and his chest was racked with spasms as his aura flickered in a desperate attempt to fend off what was irreparable damage. Ruby scowled, had the idiot even activated his aura? 

"I don't know what Ozpin saw in you, but I cannot find it." Ruby whispered, raising her knife. 

Mercury didn't seem to notice her existence at all, more focused on keeping his spilled innards in his body as his aura rapidly failed. Ruby gave him two minutes, tops. "Blood, oh there was plenty of blood. It flowed from her...from me...a perfect union of pain and sorrow, life and death." He kept raving to himself, coughing more and more as he did so. Ruby closed her eyes, then opened them again. This demanded witness. She brought the knife down, piercing the last of his aura as she drove it into his neck. His death came quicker than he deserved, and Ruby straightened. She took a moment to review Mercury's handiwork. 

She stalked out of the room, and paused at the doorway as a stray thought came over her. Mercury had a sword wound, so who was the bladesman? Ruby frowned as she eyed the trail of blood leading from the door, drop by drop. She would have to be careful, it was obvious Yang had help. Extremely capable help if the arena was any indicator. She wasn't sure how she would fight against another like those two demi-gods, but Ruby decided to figure it out when she had to. Not for the first time Crescent Rose was sorely missed, its weight a comfort Ruby felt naked without. The corridors kept twisting and turning, yet the blood trail moved unwavering, constantly forward. 

Eventually the underbelly of the coliseum gave way to a massive hole in a wall, tendrils of roots snaking upwards from the sewer floor and into the hallway. Ruby eased herself through the hall, ignoring the several pieces of rock that fell behind her. The attackers had entered through here, and had taken Yang back out the same way. The sewer water clung to her boots as Ruby stepped down into the muck with a frown. It was hard to image such powerful beings as those that fought Ozpin tramping through a filthy sewer. Still, she pressed on, ignoring the smell that clung to the ancient stones like an old lover, intertwining itself between every brick and crack until the air itself seemed to consist of naught but shit and sulfur. 

The sewer had many offshoot tunnels, yet the dark crimson of her sister's blood blazed a trail over the sludge, beckoning to her. Ruby answered the call, and kept marching through the sewer, heedless to the pain in her chest from the shockwaves in the arena. She would take stock of her own condition when the day was done, and the dead tallied. 

Ruby squinted as she started to approach what looked to be an exit, the sunlight reflecting off the far water, shining bright into her eyes. Up ahead, the water was filled with excess run-off, the clumps of trash and waste gathered at the last stretch of the pipe. As Ruby got closer, one particular lump caught her attention, a moldy white lump that jutted from the water at an awkward angle. It almost looked like a body, so Ruby approached. Her boot struck something metal and almost sent her sprawling into the muck. She frowned and tried to fish it out with her boot, only to give up and plunge one of her hands into the muck, trying to ignore the water's slimy feel as she grasped cold steel. 

"Oh no...." Ruby whispered as she ran a finger along the edge of Crocea Mors, covered in filth but otherwise untarnished, a testament to the ancient blade's quality. "Jaune..." 

Ruby's arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, and her chest refused to breathe as she approached the white lump with dread. Each step added a weight to her shoulders, threatening to drive her into the muck to drown in the trash amidst her sorrows. First Blade, eaten alive in a griffin's nest while Ruby tried to safe him, held back by the nest's mother as her young feasted. Then Yamacha, found lying in a ditch with three arrows in his back and no purse in his pocket. Then there was Fox, killed by a witcher in the initial part of the siege. Team NCKL, all slaughtered afterward by her sister and her helper, and now Jaune. She fell to her knees in front of one of her closest friend's corpse, tears blurring her vision. 

"Not you..." Ruby felt her voice crack, but she didn't care. She wanted to stay there forever, to sink into the muck beside Jaune, but she couldn't afford to do that. Not now, not ever. 

She had to bear witness, especially for him. Ruby let out another choked sob, her chest aching as she slowly wiped the tears from her eyes, and rolled the body over. Jaune's eyes gazed into hers, wide and lifeless, their color faded from death and the grime that had sank into their depths. His lips were still bright, and his cheeks held the faintest hint of the warmth that usually resided within them. At first glance it was hard to tell he was dead, but the cuts on his neck and face gave testament to his passing, the surrounding skin festering and covered in blisters, black ooze leaking from the cut as the smell of pus and decaying flesh hovered over each cut. 

Hanged Man's Venom. A horrible way to die. 

Ruby shuddered as she remembered Kaer Morhen. The witcher whose blade had slipped past Crescent Rose, scoring a light slash against her shoulder before she brought it through his throat. Not long after her insides started to burn, her throat constricting as her head felt like it was being split with an anvil. Her arms like lead, her leg muscles seizing. It was like someone had poured molten lead into her body, she couldn't do anything but gasp for air and try to breathe, thrashing in agony like she was hanging from a rope. The venom had well earned its name. Only Weiss saved her, descending like a guardian angel, using her runes to stall the poison until Jaune could get to her. 

But now Jaune was dead. It was a cruel irony, one that crushed her heart in a vice. When she was lying in the muck dying of Hanged Man's Venom, Jaune had saved her life. Yet here she couldn't save his, wasn't fast enough. 

"Oh god Jaune... I'm so sorry." Ruby pressed her forehead into his, and took a deep breath. 

She should be hunting Yang, tracking down Jaune's killer, doing anything. Instead she found herself unable to do anything but sit next to her friend. Ruby let the tears flow, rocking herself back and forth slightly. It still didn't feel real, Jaune's face wasn't even cold yet. It felt like he would get up and hug her any second, telling her it was just a nap or something. Ruby took a deep breath in and rose into a crouch, staring down at her friend again. She would have to tell the others, help them bury the body when this was all over. 

She rose slowly, her legs protesting against the weight of a loss that would haunt her dreams for a long time. She wanted to collapse, to give up, to cry until the world solved all of its problems and Jaune's killer was brought to her on their knees. But she couldn't, for Jaune's sake, and for her own. She had a duty to the departed. 

Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, but it came. "Here I stand, bulwark against the night. Hunter of those that would bring harm unto others. Witness to humanity. With you I locked shields. With you I knelt in oath. With you I marched forward in the name of peace. Where your sword arm is now tired, mine is strong. Where your foot has slipped, mine is planted. Where your fight is at an end, mine has just begun. Rest now, and stand firm in the knowledge that I tread upon your bones into the howling dark, so that through my eyes you may gaze upon un-ending dawn." An old send-off, once used by the ancient knights of Vale, but one many huntsmen had taken to using. Ruby had never really imagined using it, the words almost choking in her threat as her anger grew.

Ruby reached over and gently closed Jaune's eyes. Even in the sewer he radiated a quiet peace, one Ruby felt wash over her. He had always been the stalwart, the cool head in the storm. She knew what she had to do. A debt in blood had been made, and she would have to collect. Crocea Mors felt heavy in her hand as she stalked out of the sewer. The fires raging in the city around her fanned those in her heart. The same people that caused this chaos were the ones that killed Jaune.

Ruby kept walking, trying to ignore the carnage around her. Crowds of people ran panicked past her, racing up the hill towards Beacon, trampling each other as they tried to push past ruined buildings and collapsed walls. Their panic had taken on a will of its own, raging and thrashing in the streets like a wounded animal, heedless to the damage it caused itself in the rush to flee. Ruby pushed past them, making her way back towards the center of the city. That was where Weiss and the others would be, and where she needed to be. 

The smoke and bright light cast by the fire made it harder to see, but Ruby spotted a huntsman on a corner, shouting at the crowd to move. A maroon cape hung down from broad shoulders, hiding white armor from view. Ruby felt a wave of relief and joy wash over her, it was Uncle Qrow! The crowd was thinning, so Ruby decided to use her semblance. She supposed she was lucky Qrow had the self control he did, otherwise she might have found her entrails in a pile. Her uncle only gave a small, forced chuckle as he looked down at her, eyes full of that cool compassion Ruby loved. He gave her the same small smile he always did, and set a hand on her shoulder as she squeezed tighter. It was an anchor, something to cling to in the massive tempest of rage and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. Ruby took a deep breath, she needed to ground herself for her sake and the city's.

"Hey."

"Hey Uncle Qrow." After all that had happened today, Ruby felt like she could keep in this position for hours, but she didn't have that luxury. She stepped back and glanced back at the crowd continuing to flee down towards Beacon. The city guard had taken up most of the work, their metal helms flanking most of the street as they screamed out orders to the mob.

Qrow leaned against his scythe, the massive weapon dwarfed Crescent Rose. It held a quiet menace, a fatal promise to anyone that dared cross blades with it. "I saw you at the arena." He paused, as if wanting to say more, but he stopped himself. 

Ruby frowned at that comment. It was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about. "Yeah." 

"He didn't make it, did he?" Qrow nodded at Crocea Mors. Ruby wondered how he could appear so calm in such chaos. He had friends in the lower city, yet he was so composed and focused. 

Ruby nodded and slid Crocea Mors's sheath into her belt. The worst part was she didn't even know who killed him. There wasn't a face to hate, no person to loathe. Ruby could only see her failure, and his corpse. She felt like she was cast adrift inside her own emotional tempest, with nothing to anchor her. Qrow knelt next to her, and set a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, he was a good kid, but you have to get a hold of yourself here kiddo. You won't help anyone if you get lost in it. Mourn later, not now."

Ruby blinked, "I'll try." Qrow was right, Weiss, Pyrrha, Nora, Ren, and her classmates were still out there in the city somewhere. They needed her. 

Her Uncle slowly shook his head, and sighed. "Come on, let's go." 

"Where?" Ruby cast a glance at her Uncle as they started towards the far end of another street. His face was tight, and though he tried to hide it from her he was worried. If he was worried, then Ruby was terrified. 

He gave her a small grimace, and Ruby heard what she could only describe as rage incarnate. A roar so bestial and raw that it was all she could do to not fall to her knees. The instinctive part of her wanted to turn and run as far from that noise as possible. She just hoped that Weiss wasn't anywhere near that thing, and that she wasn't going to have to get any closer. 

Qrow dashed her hopes as he spoke, "There." His voice held the slightest tremor to it, but otherwise he continued forward. Ruby swallowed and followed, her fear trying to claw her back with the crowd towards safety. She rebuked it and cursed her weakness, one friend already died today because she wasn't there to help, and she would be damned if the same thing happened to Qrow. She would have Qrow's back, fear or not.

________________  
(Blake Belladonna, Vale Forests)

Adam shook his head again as Blake ran the brush through his mane, taking care to not cause any unnecessary pain. Even with everything that had happened, she couldn't afford to get careless. A witcher lived and died by the quality of their equipment, so she couldn't afford to grow lax, especially now. Blake ran the brush through again, the motion was relaxing. Normally it was tedious, but the mundane camp chores suddenly became things to look forward to. She didn't have to think, could just pretend it was like any other day on the Path. 

Her ears twitched as footfalls approached, and she returned the brush to Adam's saddlebag hanging on a nearby post. She stifled a yawn, she needed more sleep, but she wanted to care for Yang.

"How you holding up?" A familiar gruff voice asked.

Blake turned, and gave Geralt a small smile. He leaned up against a tree and crossed his arms. His armor had several cuts that weren't there this morning, and Blake saw one of the potions on his belt was missing. She took a step forward, a pang of concern flashing through her chest. 

"You get into trouble?" 

Geralt nodded, "Ran into a Nekker nest on the way back. Got sloppy, but they only scratched me." 

He glanced behind her towards the rest of the encampment. Laughter and the clash of swords could be heard. "How is she holding up?" 

Blake blinked and turned towards the camp. Her ears fell flat and her throat tightened. Yang wasn't holding up, whatever happened to her had been so horrible it broke her grip on reality itself. "She's alive. I suppose that counts as a victory, but it doesn't feel like it. I don't know what happened in there, but I still can't get her to open up." 

"Sometimes it's like that. She needs time." 

"It's been days." Days, and still Yang wasn't there. One word answers to some basic questions, nothing for anything else. 

Geralt kept looking out towards the camp, "When I was still looking for Ciri, I came across a minor fiefdom ruled by a local despot. Fat, drunk, and desperate to find the wife and daughter he told me were kidnapped. So I looked around, and the real story became obvious. He abused them and she ran." 

Blake crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, "Why tell me this now?" 

"Because," Geralt offered her a sad smile, "When I found the wife, she had been enslaved by witches in the wood. Abused, driven insane. After the Baron launched an attack and rescued her, he took her to a monastery. This was over 6 years ago, and when I saw them again a few months back they were still there." 

"Any improvement?" 

Geralt paused, "Some." 

The only sounds came from the fires of the camp for a moment as Blake met Geralt's eyes. Her gut twisted as she saw the sadness in his eyes, the pity. "Yang's tougher than some backwater farm girl. She'll pull through." 

"She's strong. But it might take time."

"Well, thats one thing we have plenty of." Blake ran a finger over her medallion, the silver wolf's head cool against her palm. "I don't care how long it takes, she'll pull through, and I'll be there for her." She owed Yang that much after abandoning her to the trail alone. Blake didn't doubt for a second that Yang would do the same for her. 

Blake paused, savoring the small breeze passing through the clearing. The faintest smell of roasting meat touched her nose. She did it, she rescued her best friend. She thought back to the burning city, the screams of the terrified masses as they fled collapsing homes. Blake palmed her medallion, and tried to feel anything for the hundreds of people that were probably dead because of her. She knew she should feel something, some vague ache pressing in on her ribcage at the thought of all those people dead by her hands. She should be overcome with some senseless desire for redemption, forgiveness, to account for the serious crime she committed. 

Yet her chest felt light, her breath came easy and carried a sense of satisfaction. Her knees didn't cry out to kneel and beg forgiveness before some arbitrary sense of morality, they sought only to rest beside her friend, justice having been carried out. Blake couldn't care for the faceless masses, not compared to Yang. The screams of the dying fell on deaf ears compared to the sound of Yang's laughter after watching Blake get bucked off of Adam for the first time. The dead might haunt her dreams for years to come, but for now Blake could only think about her best friend. She watched the smoke from the campfires rise into the evening sky. 

"Is it wrong that I cannot grieve for the people whose deaths I caused today?" 

Geralt stepped forward from his tree to stand at her shoulder, and followed her gaze over the camp. "You didn't kill those people."

"Raven and her friend were only there because of me." 

"Doesn't matter," Geralt frowned, "But even if it did, you saved one of your friends. Killing for those that matter might make you a monster to some, and a good friend to others." 

"And which one of those views is right?"

"That's a stupid question." 

"Answer it." Blake crossed her arms and waited for Geralt to respond. She thought of the child back at the village, wolf doll charred and crushed underfoot. The girl, killed without second thought by someone fighting for his tribe, Raven's tribe. She had died scared and alone, panicked as flames and the screams of the dying drowned out the cries of her parents. Blake closed her eyes, feeling tired. How many children like that had died in Vale, all so she could save her friend.

"Only you can answer that question." Blake's heart skipped a beat at those words. The only answer she didn't want. It was one thing to have someone else answer the question and find her lacking, but to stare into her own actions and condemn herself, and Yang by extension...

No, she couldn't do that.

Geralt, sensing her turmoil turned and made his leave. For a time, only the soft breeze kept her company, gently running its fingers through her hair as the distant sound of drunken laughter touched her ears. She stood there, watching the camp and trying to find some way to bring her friend back. She had to cut through the fog of pain, loss, and despair that gripped her. Yang was no longer recognizable, even though the face was growing similar by the day. Deep purple eyes that Blake had lost herself in several times over the years, always so clear and inviting. Her loud and hearty smile, warm enough to melt ice and forever the first thing to greet Blake before her friend embraced her. 

Now her eyes were faded and far away, and her lips offered nothing but silence or the smallest of frowns. It made Blake feel cold and alone, even though she could now reach out and touch Yang her best friend had never felt so far away. She was lost in a hell within her own mind, and she couldn't trust herself to break out. Yet how could Blake break her friend out? What could convince someone who had been subjected to illusion to illusion that this was real when everything else hadn't been? 

A horse snorted, and Blake's ears twitched as her hand touched Gambol's hilt. Behind her, far off, perhaps a few dozen meters. Her free hand touched her last Blizzard potion on her belt as she drew Gambol, the last remnants of Hanged Man's Venom glinting in the moonlight. 

A single horse trotted into view. Her eyes widened as she saw a second rider hanging onto the first. It was Raven. Half dead and half asleep, a serene smile across her lips.   
__________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter, but Ruby needed to catch up with Jaune and I wanted Blake to pause and consider the implications of what she just did. I promise I'm not falling into a rut here, so please bear with me. 
> 
> I just didn't see Blake regretting her actions on saving Yang. Again, not trying for good guys and bad guys, just characters. 
> 
> Cheers and thanks so much for reading!


	15. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Yang both face the lasting after effects of the nightmares in different ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be my last post for a short while (month or two), since life is busy and all. Again, this fic will never die until I let it and tell you all up-front. Hope everyone is still here. I am extremely grateful to everyone who reads this, it fills me with so much joy that even one person enjoys what I’m writing. Thanks for all the feedback, positive and negative. It keeps me going. 
> 
> Hope that you all enjoy the chapter.

__________________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long)

She tried to close her eyes again, but then she was back in that room, strapped to the table. Mercury leaning over her, gently tipping the bucket with that sadistic gleam in his eyes. Water spilling forward...her chest on fire. Yang bolted upright as her body panicked, her lungs gasping for air as her stomach heaved with the memory of the saltwater clogging her throat. She threw up again, and fell to the side panting.   
  
Why wouldn't he just go away? Usually Emerald's visions were Yang's only reprieve from that deranged madman, but it seemed he was following her here too. Yang rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the candlelight flicker across the tarp. Usually Emeralds visions had some kind of purpose or focus, some new clever way to twist the knife and get what she wanted. But they also usually stopped, stabbing Yang in the gut then taking her to some new hell.

Here though the knife just kept coming. Every day Yang had to watch Blake struggle to cope with her broken friend. Yang hated every second of it, but she also couldn't stop any of it. Mercury and his damn bucket of water were always there, and her scars still haunted her nightmares at night. Her body was healing, but she still couldn't bring herself to get up. What could she do?

"Raven?" Blake voice carried from outside the tent, "What happened? Who's this?"

"Let him in."

"Who is he?" Blake's voice was coming from right outside the entrance flap.

A different voice, one immediately familiar spoke, "I appreciate your protectiveness, but may I please see my daughter?" Dad?

Yang heard a grunt and the faintest of whispers, "Break through to her. Please, Seeing her like this..." Blake voice was low, and pained. Another shard of guilt pierced her heart, hearing her friend like this.

She watched as her dad pushed into the tent, bent over to fit in the more cramped space. Yang's breath caught in her throat as her stomach flipped. It was him, after all those years...

His face had several new lines, and his hair had a few gray strands. His eyes were still the same though, even after all the years. Filled with such love, barely hiding the pain behind them. He rushed forward and fell to his knees, drawing her up into a hug. Yang froze for a moment, it felt like she was back home, even for the briefest second. It felt like Ruby would come bouncing in from outside covered in mud and join in, causing Dad to laugh as she got mud on all of them.

"Dad...?" Yang still couldn't believe it, understand it. Why would Emerald bring him of all people here?

Her dad pulled back, his eyes moist and a small smile on his lips. His cheeks were red, he was almost crying. "I never thought I'd see my little dragon again."

"How did you get here?" Yang asked, brows knitting in confusion. Something wasn't right.

Tai glanced back at the tall woman who followed him in, who stared him down. "Raven and I...are old friends."

Old friends? With her? Yang frowned and took her first look at the woman. Tall, she held a confidence Yang had only seen in professional killers. Her left arm hung limp, the rest of her body was covered in blood and scars. Her eyes met Yang's, something about them seemed familiar. She could've sworn she had seen those same striking eyes before. When she tried to remember those eyes a different pair greeted her.

Blake's eyes, wide and terrified as the wraith plunged its sword deep into her stomach. Blood, blood everywhere as she tried to stop the bleeding, halt the shock. Blake's small gasps of pain as Yang desperately searched for a swallow she didn't have. Blake's eyes dilating and losing focus as the blood loss set in. Cold skin, Blake's body growing cold in her arms as her best friend died. The faintest whispers, let me go...

"Yang. Yang!" Someone shook her gently, and she felt the world dissolve and refocus around her.

She was back in the tent, her dad holding her at arms length. Yang avoided his concerned look, and looked around. Raven's face was impassive, but she seemed several steps closer than before. Next to her stood Blake, her best friend...

"Blake?" Yang asked, dread and confusion rising in her chest. Emerald wouldn't bring her back so quickly, right? Emerald had been the one to show her that vision again, at least Yang hoped. "You're alive?"

Blake flinched, her inner turmoil slipping through. For the briefest moment her grief and pity laid bare on her face. Yang heard Blake's breath catch across the room, her cheeks losing most of their color. Then it was gone, and Blake was back to how she had always been, Yang's calm and collected best friend. On the outside, on the inside Yang couldn't even begin to guess.

"I'm alive Yang, its all right." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked.

Yang's heart twisted at that sound, one she immediately wanted to forget. The sound of Blake's pain and weakness burrowed into her ears and shook her to the core. Blake had always been her rock, that stable constant on a Path with no end and no goal. Even if she was an illusion, she carried the weight and presence that Yang's friend had. Seeing her like this...

"Yeah..." Yang's mouth could barely whisper the words, her throat raw.

Blake paused for a moment, seeking Yang's eyes. Yang couldn't do it, couldn't look at all the pain and hardship she had put her friend through. Then Blake turned, and the tent flap rustled as she stepped out. Yang wanted to get up, rush after her, hug her and fall to her knees, begging for forgiveness.

Except Blake wasn't real, she was just the latest in a massive line of iterations designed to torment Yang. Yang wanted to scream, to hit something, but she couldn't move, she had no energy.

"Chin up, you'll get through this." Her dad lifted her chin and offered her a small smile. "You're the strongest person I know, and I can't imagine what you're going through. But I'm here for you, and so are your friends."

Yang let herself get pulled into the hug, trying desperately to remain calm. His chest felt so real, so comforting. Her friends...

She hoped they were alright, that all the times she'd seen them die, tortured, or aiding with her torment were just sadistic manifestations. Yang hoped they were all back at Kaer Morhen, laughing, practicing, living. Just like the old days, the few happy moments snuck in between training sessions. Highlighted by the grueling instruction, those memories burned like stars in her mind.

Tai eventually left her, Yang barely noticed. She was lost in memories of happier days. Blake, Kelly, and Ryan inviting her to sneak down to the lake by Kaer Morhen. The way Blake's eyes lit up when she accepted, her smile as they reached the water, glistening in the moonlight.

The water...

Thrashing, bile, vomit, terror. Yang twisting, writhing in her restraints as Mercury laughed, pouring more. Her lungs filled with nothing but water, her throat constricting as her legs thrashed. Unable to breathe, unable to escape, unable to see, unable to whimper, drowning...

Suddenly something warm, piercing the veil...

_________________________________________________   
(Blake Belladonna, 4 hours earlier...)   
  
Blake pivoted, Gambol heavy in her hand as she thrust at an imaginary opponent. Her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm as she side-stepped an imaginary counter strike. Her feet landed lightly on the grass of the clearing, empty save for small pile of armor on the far corner. Perfect for what she wanted right now. Quiet, peace and solitude. No broken friends. No faces haunted by horrors she could have stopped. Just her, her thoughts, and Gambol. The trees swayed in the breeze, a silent audience.    
  
She kept moving, kept fighting her imaginary foe, her body running through one of the many practice sequences taught at Kaer Morhen. Her mind drifted as she slashed and dodged at multiple foes, years of training taking over. Yang's eyes as she had walked into the tent, far away and filled with horror. Blake had hoped that Yang was making progress, but every day she drifted between illusion and reality, unable to tell the difference anymore.    
  
“You always were the adventurer” Those were the last words Blake had said to her friend before everything had unraveled so spectacularly.    
  
Blake ducked and cast Aard, the blue shockwave sending the grass in front of her reeling as she took a deep breath while moving to the next sequence. Sweat gathered on her exposed arms and lower chest, falling to all sides as she pivoted and continued. It felt good to return to something normal, something routine. It felt good to train, to actually prepare for something she was meant for. Blake side-stepped another lunge, foot crushing some grass before Gambol eviscerated another imaginary swordsman. She had been prepared to fight almost every conjunction horror, to kill them as quickly and cleanly as possible, collecting coin for risking her life in the place of a militia or knight’s.    
  
‘Blake?’ The confused panic in Yang’s eyes, the way her heartbeat skyrocketed and her cheeks drained of color all in that same instant, “You’re alive?”    
  
No one had prepared her for people sick enough to take something as fierce and joyful as Yang and reduce her to such a base state. Her grip on Gambol tightened, and she moved faster, swung harder at the foes that kept coming. No monster was enough of a sadist to do this. The trees kept swaying around her, Gambol shining in the moonlight as Blake kept going faster and faster. It was a pretty night, not unlike one weeks ago.   
  
They has sat together that night, back to back. It had felt good to feel Yang’s shoulder against hers, their hair almost intertwined as they rested against one another. Even amidst the worry and fear and unknown Blake hadn’t felt anything but a quiet ease, a sense of rightness and comfort. 

 

She stepped back, and slashed to end the sequence.    
  
Yang. Blake’s heart tightened in her chest again, and the world twisted into meaningless color, her head throbbing and world spinning. Yang was the first true friend she had from Kaer Morhen, one of the last ones alive. Witchers walked the Path for centuries, and Blake balked at the idea of walking it without Yang. No more mostly one sided conversations, carried by Yang in the basement of some small village inn, almost glowing in the torchlight and danger of the contracts they pursued. Nothing to look forward to every year on the way back to Kaer Morhen, and nobody to weather the dull hours on the trail with every now and then.    
  
“No.” Blake’s outburst surprised herself.

  
Gambol resumed its song alone, Blake surging forward with it, willing the rhythm and beat of the music onward. The clearing spun around her, faster and faster as her steps raced with the frantic beat of her heart, trying to outrun the shame and regret. She should have been faster, she should have been better. She shouldn’t have gotten wounded at the inn, then she and Geralt  could have ridden through the night and caught up with Yang’s captors.    
  
The sequence continued, but it was still too slow. It hadn’t helped her save Yang, it wouldn’t be enough for her now. Blake thrust forward with one hand and cast Yrden with her palm, the purple glyphs casting a deep hue to the clearing. Blake resumed once more, faster in the circle than before, but it wasn’t enough. Blood roared in her ears beside the sound of Yang screaming at night, caught in her nightmares.

 

Yang had needed more.

 

Blake deserved worse. 

 

She ducked and twirled as drowners rose from the shadows. 

 

Vesemir or Neo wouldn’t have slowed Geralt down.

 

Strigas crawled forward, accusation in their eyes met with Gambol.

 

Blake should have followed her best friend into the forest.

 

Bruxa emerged, fangs bared as the horde of imaginary beasts converged around her. 

 

Blake should have been captured instead of her. 

  
She deserved that fate, but Yang did not. So Blake kept fighting. Everything faded into flashes of the tree-line and imaginary limbs as she kept carving through more and more. She ducked and dodged, Gambol her only defense as her own demons converged.    
  
Blake decapitated a bruxa and spun, only to have something hard crash into her chest, and a glint of red and silver flashed in front of her vision before she hit the dirt with a grunt, Gambol raised to the attacker.    
  
“Sloppy and stupid. Your center of balance is too high and your footwork is shit.” Geralt leaned over and offered her a hand as her vision returned to focus and her blood cooled. “How many times did Vesemir tell you never practice alone, it only entrenches your mistakes.”    
  
Blake took his hand, and let him yank her to her feet, her ears pressed flat and cheeks reddening in embarrassment. She not only didn’t hear him approach, but had been so oblivious he had disabled her with a palm.    
  
Blake brushed some dirt off of her chest, “You’re right. This was stupid, especially with...” Her gaze drifted from Geralt’s eyes to the trees behind them.   
  
He relaxed a bit. “This won’t help anything. Brooding alone won’t clear your head.”    
  
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”    
Blake rolled her eyes as Geralt gave her a dry grunt. Geralt drew his sword and struck at her shoulder in one fluid motion, Blake stepped back in surprise, barely lifting Gambol into place to block. Blake’s instincts took over on his follow up strike, and she ducked away and launched an attack of her own.    
  
Geralt flashed a wolf’s grin as he danced backward, avoiding and deflecting her strikes with ease. “If you want a distraction, then you should at least make it an educational one. Keep your feet  mobile.”   
  
Blake nodded, and he came in again.    
  
Despite facing open steel, each struck with no hesitation and with nothing held back. In the final days before the Trial of the Grasses, the instructors had the remaining students spar with sharpened steel and no armor. You would get hit, and you learned how to ignore wounds in combat and keep fighting.    
  
Blake slashed downward, pressing forward to counter Geralt’s superior reach. She might have been trained by Vesemir, but so had he. His form was flawless, and he moved with a speed and lithe grace that only a century on the Path could provide. Blake grunted and deflected a thrust, but his sword was already almost through her guard again before she could even counter-attack. It took most of her focus to hold him off, any thoughts about penetrating his guard were gone.    
  
Still, Yang persisted in her mind even as she side-stepped a slash and leapt backward from the follow up flurry. “Does it ever get easier?”    
  
Geralt gave her a small second to recover her guard before coming in again, both hands on his sword. “I don’t know.”    
  
Blake felt a jolt of pain lace up her arm as she blocked a sweeping blow from Geralt, his enhanced mutations delivering a staggering amount of force. She closed in again, ignoring the pain and slashing at his thigh. “I just feel...lost. I’m trying to do everything I can for her, and it isn’t enough.”   
  
“What Yang went through,” Geralt grimaced before side-stepping Blake’s slash and counter-attacking. “Was horrible and depraved. You know she needs time.” 

 

Blake deflected another attack, and rather than evade Geralt’s follow up, she moved forward. Frustration gripped her arms as she swung Gambol in a wide arc. Geralt didn’t say anything as he moved forward to meet her attack, and disarmed her with a flourish before placing the tip of his blade at her throat.

 

“You should have waited for my follow up attack and used it to unbalance my center before striking.”

 

“She isn’t getting better, she’s getting worse. Each day she seems like shes sliding further and further away from reality.” Blake didn’t care about swordplay or her form. Yang needed her help, but O Brothers, how could she give it?

 

Geralt lowered his sword and took up a ready stance, blade angled to the side. “Recovery isn’t always a straight line.” 

 

Blake wanted it to be, a clean and simple path back to the friend she knew. Having her hopes raised and dashed every day as Yang floundered in whatever memories plagued her was almost more than she could bear. Geralt didn’t allow her to brood any longer, his sword leaping forward without warning as he charged. 

 

“But how do I help her? I can’t just sit and watch this happen.” 

 

Blake’s counter-charge kept her mobile, Gambol striking low and fast as she sought to keep Geralt off balance. He adjusted without effort and rebuffed Blake, and she was once again on the defensive. His sword moved with a mind of his own, each strike appear ing almost from nowhere, with no tells as to how he would attack next. 

 

“I don’t know. That might be all you can do.” His voice was soft, a small amount of pity showing on his face. 

 

Blake snarled at him, striking towards his face, Gambol an extension of her frustration and rage. “I refuse to sit and watch her suffer alone.” Geralt dodged backwards as Blake continued, almost in a whisper. “Leaving her alone caused all this.” 

 

She kept attacking, and Geralt stopped dodging. The air echoed with the sound of clashing steel as their blades struck dozens of times as each moved in tune with each other. Sweat worked its way down Blake’s shoulder as Geralt stonewalled her advance, face calm and collected as her strikes came in faster, tighter, more focused. 

 

After several minutes, Blake parried his counter-stroke a second too late, the impact sending her onto her back foot. The fight was over, and both knew it. Geralt pressed his advantage, striking with the fury of a hurricane as Blake struggled to hold her guard without the leverage of a good position. Geralt feinted low, and struck Gambol aside with a pivot faster than Blake could track. A chill raced along her spine as the cold blade of his blade once more pressed itself to her neck.

 

“Not bad. Your form improved, and your footwork is passable.” Geralt lowered the blade with a small smile, and turned away. Before Blake could say anything, he stopped. “I don’t know how, but be there for her. She needs you.” 

 

Blake’s comment died in her throat. Wasn’t that what she had been doing, being there for Yang? Every day she was there, making sure Yang stayed clean, helping her eat, disinfecting cuts, doing all she could to make sure Yang healed. Blake picked up Gambol’s sheath in frustration, and slammed her blade home before grabbing the rest of her armor. 

 

She would always be there for Yang.

  
  


_____________________________________________________________

 

Blake stalked between the campfires, ignoring the raised eyebrows and muttered questions from Raven’s men. Half were drunk, and the other half were about to be. As she made for her tent, her mind returned to Geralt’s words.  

 

_ “She needs you.”  _

 

A muffled scream faintly brushed against her ear, and she stopped. Stopped, and stared down at the silver medallion pressed against her chest. Witchers were expected to walk their paths alone, relying on only their skills and themselves to survive and ply their trade. Another choked scream drifted over the camp, and Blake closed her eyes and turned in a new direction.

 

Yang was alone in her tent, forehead drenched in sweat, face contorted in a mixture of pain and fear as she thrashed underneath the bedroll. Another strangled moan escaped her lips, and Blake’s breath caught in her chest. Before she knew what she was doing her armor was in a pile by the tent door, and she was in the bedroll beside Yang. 

 

Yang stirred slightly, but her thrashing ceased as her breathing fell into deep rhythms. Blake cautiously maintained her hold on Yang, her best friends warmth and presence awkward and unfamiliar at first. Blake felt like  an intruder. But as Yang relaxed and gently pressed herself deeper into Blake’s grip, those doubts began to creep away. 

 

“I’m here for you Yang. I’m here now.” Blake whispered, before slowly letting the dancing shadows of the campfire outside lull her into sleep beside her best friend.

 

The last thing she remembered before the blackness took her was a single raven’s call, and Yang’s content sigh into her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is welcome. I’m concerned I’m not walking the line between angst and tragedy very well. Blake’s thoughts about blame and regret aren’t meant to be entirely rational or healthy. I hope I’m portraying not only how severe tramua can negatively impact other people.


	16. Recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby and Qrow hunt Raven in the burning wreckage of Vale City, while Yang's sleep is for once a pleasant experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I'm back after life decided to try and make me never write again. Sorry for the wait. Again, this will never die unannounced, please bear with me. 
> 
> So, I think this is past or rapidly approaching the year anniversary of this fic. To think that some of you have been reading this with me for almost a year...it blows my mind. I want to thank you all so much for everything. I know that I haven't responded to a lot of comments, and thinking back on it I think it was I thought it was kinda rude. Getting over that particular bout of insanity, I realized it was rude to be unresponsive to everyone, so I'm going to change that going forward. 
> 
> Part of the reason this took so long was that I got some beta-readers, and I couldn't be happier for their help. They helped me so much in making this, and I hope you'll agree the extra time was worth it. That said, without further ego stroking ado...

(Ruby Rose, Vale City)

Ruby kept running, ignoring the fleeing masses around her as she struggled to keep up with Uncle Qrow. Crocea Mors was a heavy weight on her hip, and it tired Ruby faster than she would’ve preferred. The smoke of the burning city filled her lungs and made it harder to breathe. People were dying all around her, clutching at burns or their throats as the smog descended upon them. Ruby couldn't bear to watch, unable to do anything for them in the chaos. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she followed the maroon cape in front of her.

The city was in chaos around them, the city guard stretched thin between bucket lines and caring to the wounded. The roar of the flames didn't drown out the screams or the cries for help. Ruby had spent her whole life training to respond to those calls, but here she could do nothing. Qrow needed her, and as much as it hurt to admit it, he mattered more. Ruby vaulted over a merchant's corpse, charred and lifeless, and with great effort managed to catch up with Qrow.

"Shouldn't we be helping these people?" Ruby called, hoping her voice carried over the noise.

Qrow grimaced. "Ozpin trained the guard for this. Trust them to do their jobs while we do ours."

"What job is that?"

"Kill the ones that started this mess." Another bolt of lightning struck the city ahead, the thunder blast enough to blow out one of her ears as something roared, in pain or fury, Ruby couldn't tell. She pushed through a swearing squad of city guard with a hasty apology and kept going.

The ones that started this mess. The ones that killed Jaune, the two women from the arena. Their duel with Ozpin was shattering the city, and Qrow expected Ruby to help him kill them? Fear coiled itself around her stomach, but it retreated as her blood began to boil. Their strength be damned, they killed Jaune, and almost killed Glynda.

Even Qrow paused for a second as another ungodly howl tore through the city. Low and guttural, it shook the foundations of the buildings that hadn't already collapsed or burned to the ground. Ruby saw a few huntsman out of the corner of her eye helping drag some wounded out of a burning building. To her dismay, Weiss wasn't among them; Sun, however, was.

Two blocks ahead, the side of a small bank exploded as something red - no, someone red - was thrown through it. Several mobs of terrified people tried to escape the falling debris. Ruby was there one second, and was the wind the next. The air was thick with smoke and embers, and suddenly Ruby wasn't the wind, she was thrown sidelong into the corner of the bank, her ribs screaming as she struggled to get to her feet. The world was grey and wrong, the street clogged with corpses and rubble. Fear gripped her again as she struggled to locate Qrow in the haze and confusion. The figure in red staggered to her feet, blade raised towards the hole she had just been hurled through. Her face was caked in blood and grit, but her eyes shone with an eldritch light that radiated both rage and fear.

A flash of movement further up the street caught her eye as Qrow yelled to her, “Ruby, are you hurt?” He vaulted over a once beautifully carved bank pillar and kept running.

Not trusting her semblance, Ruby took off after Qrow, clutching her side and trying to ignore the blazing agony of what was increasingly feeling like a broken rib as her adrenaline waned. Cursing such profound bad luck, Ruby had almost reached Qrow when she saw it. It tore through what little remained of the bank with bestial fury. The stonework that had stood proud for all of her father’s life was nothing but a leaf before a storm in front of the ungodly horror before her. Ruby had felt her fair share of fear before - before training, before she fought a griffin, before she had charged Kaer Morhen’s walls some months prior. The pit in her stomach had a bottom, a limit of rationality and sanity, some vague compromise between instinct and action she could reach. This time Ruby felt terror. Cold, unyielding and unending as the void that filled her stomach. There was no compromise, no reasoning or suppressing what surged through her veins.

She wanted to puke, to scream, to flee, to hide, to whimper and do nothing all at once. Her limbs trembled, caught between a thousand warring instincts that could only scream wrong. There was nothing natural about what stood before her. Standing almost as tall as the building it has just torn through, the beast had no face. Its head was humanoid enough, but where one would expect a nose or eyes to be was nothing, a smooth and horrid exterior only broken by the lower face. A wide, predator’s mouth sat, fangs massive and serrated, their milky pallor stained crimson by someone’s blood. The skin around the gaping maw was taut and veiny, almost seething and shifting as the creature inhaled, and Ruby saw no tongue. The beast’s skin was of similar repulsiveness, almost as if there was no skin atall veins throbbed and pulsed across its body, the skin appeared almost like raw flesh, except stretched taut. Two massive arms waited at its sides, ending in massive talons almost as big as Ruby’s forearm. Two more arms protruded from its upper back, twins of the first. They all moved in disjointed, jerking motions apart from one another, talons flexing and curling to a quiet tune only it could hear.

Perhaps most horrifying of all were the wings that slowly unfurled as the beast surveyed the carnage before it. Wide enough to eclipse a city block, they were a grotesque mess of taut, veiny skin and tattered holes. Ruby didn’t even realize she had drawn Crescent Rose until she almost dropped it, arms shaking as the creature’s wings reached their maximum span, and the monstrosity before her bellowed down at the woman in red.

“Qrow…” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “I…Is t..that Oz…”

“Yeah.” His voice was as quiet as hers, though it remained steady.

Ozpin bellowed another challenge to the woman in red, who grimaced and took up a defensive posture. Her blade slowly changed, the red turning a vibrant green as a dragon on her robe roared and soared through the fabric, scales shimmering between red and green as it circled. The woman moved before Ozpin did, dashing forward so fast Ruby could only catch the briefest glance at where her blade had been a second before. Ozpin roared as he charged to meet her, the ground shaking under his feet. It parted before him as a massive spear of ice emerged, taking him in the chest. Ozpin roared in pain as his momentum brought it further in until there was a hole bigger than a well in his chest. The woman in red landed on the pillar, blade erupting into a flurry of motion. The speed of her blade and the ferocity of the strikes left Ruby awestruck. Sickly gashes sprouted all along Ozpin upper chest, the cuts smoking and pulsing as they tried to seal themselves while burning away.

“We’re supposed to fight her?” Ruby winced as the woman’s final strike left a long and jagged gash across Ozpin’s upper chest.

Qrow unsheathed Harbinger beside her, its blade glinting in the fire’s light. “Raven isn’t invincible. Ozpin will bring her down and we’ll end her.” Ruby paused at his words; she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. How could Qrow want to help that monster?

Ozpin roared again, and brought both his shoulder arms down at Raven, who was already moving. The ice where she stood not even a second before was shattered, and her blade lashed out at one arm as she spun, leaving a jagged cut before she landed on a nearby rooftop. Ozpin snarled, and yanked the massive pillar of ice out of his chest. It came free dripping red ichor, his very blood pulsing and writhing as it fell into the flames below. Ruby watched as his chest slowly began to knit itself together, but Ozpin paid it no mind. His wings rose and fell, carrying him into the air. Ruby struggled to keep her feet as the gusts of wind crashed into her, embers singeing her cheeks and smoke clouded her vision.

Hanging in the sky like a herald of death itself, Ozpin hurled the massive spear of ice at Raven while the night sky seemed to coalesce around him. Tendrils of liquid darkness curled over his body and wounds. Raven herself didn’t move, her blade flashing red as she slashed, sending the pillar to the streets below in two pieces. Ozpin didn’t give her the chance to rest, as the darkness around him shot downward on grey wings, and Ruby recognized vaguely bat shaped heads as they plummeted, screeching. Raven leapt backwards, but the swarm followed, their speed and force sheering the tiles off the roof she stood on, yet no bat fell. She spun, eyes flaring as she extended her palm, an inferno blazing forth. The entire rooftop in front of her erupted into a stream of flame, engulfing the incoming swarm and the rooftops of the entire block. Some made it through, streaking past Raven, trailing flames and oozing shadow; their translucent wings sliced at her aura. She emerged wreathed in a red glow, highlighted by the flames of the burning buildings around her.

Ozpin struck from above, colliding with Raven at full force and shattering the roof underneath her as they crashed into the building below. Her cry of pain and surprise was cut short by another bestial roar. For a minute, all was still in the street around her, the only sound to be heard was the roaring of the inferno that surrounded Ruby with almost unbearable heat. Her sweat had almost soaked through her tunic, and was dripping from her face and onto Crescent Rose. Qrow beside her wasn’t in much better condition, sweat dripping from his beard and onto the rubble below. He reached into his jacket and brought out the same flask he’d had twenty years ago when Ruby first met him. Some custom piece from Zerrikania, perhaps an old flame’s. He brought it to his mouth and took a long drink even as Ozpin roared in what could be pain or fury. He glanced at Ruby, and extended the flask to her.

Normally Ruby avoided booze, especially the cheap shit Qrow preferred, but today wasn’t a normal day. She accepted the flask and brought it to her lips, letting the lukewarm spirit sear her throat and warm her belly. As she drank, out of the corner of her eye Ruby spotted another figure, definitely not Raven, emerging from the crumbling ruin of the bank, slightly favoring one leg and covered in dirt and blood. Her golden armor was covered in dirt, smoke, and blood. It was marred by a dozen cuts and several cracks. The woman’s cloak was no longer green, or really a cloak. It clung to her back like a tattered rag, filled with holes and mostly burned away. Her sword still shone in the almost angelic light of before, but her staff had lost its inner glow.

Ruby handed the flask back to Qrow and pointed at the woman in green limping towards the house. “Should we stop her?”

Qrow slid the flask back into his jacket and yanked Harbinger from the ground, “Yes. Keep moving, don’t let that sword touch you, and aim for the joints. If we can cut a tendon or sever an artery we might survive.” His tone brokered no argument, and he was off before Ruby could respond.

The woman saw them coming, her glowing gold eyes turning towards them as they closed in. Despite her wounded condition, she moved faster than the even the witchers had back at Kaer Morhen and slashed her sword toward Qrow’s upper shoulder. He ducked under the blow. A slab of earth sprouted from the rubble and into his gut, sending him tumbling backwards with a grunt. Ruby didn’t look back, she attacked before the woman could try and press Qrow further. Ruby brought Crescent Rose down in a slanted arc, and the woman dodged to the side. She kept advancing, her hands blurring between petal, smoke and flesh as she pushed herself faster in a desperate bid to force the woman onto her unfavored foot. She kept thwarting Ruby’s attacks, moving with such fluid grace and effortless contempt that Ruby felt like she was fighting three people, not one. Crescent Rose grew heavier in her hands. Her palms, soaked with sweat, struggled to hold the weapon true. The woman planted her foot and brought her blade to bear against Crescent Rose. Ruby’s arms protested at the sudden halt, and she pitched forward. Already off balance, the woman sent her next to Qrow in a heap, Crescent Rose somehow still clutched in her hands.

The woman advanced, her glowing eyes filled with malice. The house where Ozpin lay collapsed inward, its last stable wall blown apart as Raven dueled the inhuman monstrosity. Her sword was blue, but it was drenched in red ichor as she ducked and wove around Ozpin’s claws. Raven and Ozpin kept circling, blades and talons in constant contest. Each of Ozpin’s arms moved independent of the other, yet in synergy. Four sets of talons wove a deadly maze of death around Raven, yet her guard only bent instead of breaking. Where Ozpin had size, speed, strength, and durability, Raven had skill and the elements. Lances of ice and rock erupted from the ground and impaled his arms and feet.. Ozpin continued to fight on, heedless to the gaping holes in his arms and legs that knit themselves together in a disgusting weave of throbbing flesh and vein. Raven however continued to suffer, receiving glancing blows and scratches strong enough to shatter whatever pile of debris they collided with. Her aura blazed with the fury of a dying star, enveloping her in a bright red as she prolonged the struggle. Her aura was so bright it hurt Ruby eyes.

The other woman had no such qualms. She limped weakly towards her sister in arms, her stride growing more determined with each step.

Raven’s aura continued to dim. Ruby could barely imagine the strength behind her aura; it had already withstood an inhuman amount of punishment. Ozpin howled in rage as Raven side-stepped one arm’s thrust and ducked under a second’s slash. Her sword cleaved upwards and ripped straight through the elbow joint of the third. A massive forearm fell free, talons twitching as it crashed into the debris filled street. The resistance of the arm kept her still long enough for the 4th arm to strike. It slashed across her chest, the talons scraping against Raven’s aura as it flickered and then gave out. Ozpin stabbed, aiming for her throat, but Raven managed to throw herself sideways. The talons still caught her shoulder. Raven’s scream of agony was cut short as Ozpin’s foot sent her flying, crashing in a heap on the far side of the street. The glow in Raven’s eyes faded with the color in her face.

“Qrow…” Ruby struggled to rise, her aura heavily drained from the woman’s blow. Next to her, Qrow was faring better. He had already gotten his legs under him and wasn’t in any serious pain.

“I’ve gotcha kiddo.” He helped to her feet as Ozpin turned towards the woman approaching him.

The woman drove her staff into the rubble and repulsed Ozpin’s first charge, causing a shockwave strong enough to send him flying. The shockwave threw Ruby off her feet, vision swimming and corpses flying over her head. Qrow grunted as he hit the dirt beside her. In the sky above them, Ozpin roared challenge to the ground below. Thunder answered as the sky above raged, lightning striking towards Ozpin. Except he wasn’t there; one second he was hanging in the sky above the woman, the next they were locked in combat above the rooftops. Staff and Sword met talon as Ozpin once again locked himself in mortal combat with a demigod.

Ozpin roared as the woman left a deep gash across what should have been a face. He was suddenly behind her, appearing and disappearing in flashes of smoke and darkness as reality itself wrapped around him. Lightning roared back in answer, and Ruby could barely see through the smoke and the exploding lances of light. The woman’s blade and staff never stopped moving, intercepting claws that appeared mid-strike and lashing out at a body that seemed more smoke than monster at times. Ozpin didn’t stop his assault, claws striking from all sides. The woman’s parries grew even more frantic, the margin of error collapsing alongside her strength.

Ozpin came down at the woman’s head with all three talons . She brought her staff up to block, her face strained as she gasped for air. For a moment she held him back the unstoppable tide, then the staff shattered in a blinding explosion of light. When Ruby’s eyes cleared, the duel was all but over. The woman’s blade blocked only one strike in three. She became obscured by a sphere of radiant gold, defiant even as Ozpin’s talons left dozens of gashes against it. Lightning poured down from the skies, flashes of white fury racing towards Ozpin, who ignored the bolts. Even as his flesh burned and wings seared, he continued his assault. Consumed by such a primal and otherworldly fury that not even the elements could shake him from it, Ozpin rained countless blows down on the rapidly collapsing sphere of light.

The shield flickered, and the lightning stopped. For a moment even the sound of the burning city was lost. Ozpin’s strikes rang out in the silence as if Ruby were floating in a murky pool. Everything was out of focus. The rubble fazed in and out, shrouded in a fog that itself blended into strange pools of writhing darkness. Slowly, tendrils of noise snaked forth from the fog, Ruby could almost see them. The mixed scent of blood and corpse rot intermingled with lilac wafted from each tendril as they spoke.

“Oooo, another Sentinel falls.” The voice was low, feminine, and mocking

“Even the stones weep, drenched in blood and ichor. Their pain is delicious.” Another voice, deeper yet distinctly female. It echoed in a hundred different tongues, vibrating Ruby’s bones.

“Gaia’s daughters always tasted the sweetest. Their bone marrow drips with such potent juices.”

“Like tasting history…” The voices came from everywhere and nowhere, as if the stone itself whispered alongside her.

“Pity this one didn’t die somewhere closer.”

A third voice let out a low chuckle, withered and sinister. “Don’t worry Sister, The One Winged Raven comes, alone and terrified…”

“Seeking refuge in a forest no longer hers.”

“The sanctum besieged.”

“The White Wolf stalks along side her, flanked by a pack born of fire and strife.”

“An old grudge…”

“A dark promise, whispered where Stone hears…”

“Stone remembers…”

“Even burning, Stone sees…”

Another set of clucking noises, low and insidious. “The Timeless One, eyes locked on the horizon…” Ruby swallowed; did these monsters mean Ozpin?

“Always forward. Blind to the dagger at his back.”

“Ooo, his suffering will be wonderful.”

“So Exquisite…”

“So Exotic…”

“So soon…”

The voices faded as the world came into focus once more, the woman’s aura shattering in an explosion of radiant gold. Her scream of pain was cut short as Ozpin lunged, mouth locked open in a snarl. His teeth clamped down, tearing into her exposed flesh and silencing her screams as her vocal chords were torn from her throat. Nature itself took up the woman’s scream. An almost crystalline shockwave exploded outward, eliminating any flames it touched but passing through buildings and rubble. The heavens screeched, a primordial cry of rage, pain, and loss as the woman’s body hung limp in Ozpin’s blood stained claw, his talons piercing her spine from above and below.

Ruby dropped Crescent Rose and pressed her palms to her ears. Her head felt like it was being torn apart from the inside, the sound dragging across her mind like a rusty hook. Qrow drifted in and out of focus in front of her as he fell to one knee, driving Harbinger into the ground to keep himself balanced. Her blood roared in her ears as the scream reluctantly died, the last vestiges of light fleeing the woman’s body in Ozpin’s hands. Ruby staggered to her feet, chest heaving and vision spinning. She almost pitched over again, but she managed to retrieve Crescent Rose. Qrow gave her a quick once over, a ghost of a frown on his lips.

“How you holding up?”

“I’ll hold together.”

Her voice felt raspy, but it seemed to satisfy Qrow. He slung Harbinger over his back and glanced at the empty pile of rubble where Raven landed. “Come on, let’s finish this.”

Ruby fell in line behind Qrow, trudging through the ruined streets. Raven was easy to follow due to the trail of blood she left behind, bright and fresh in the light of the scattered embers that remained. Ruby ignored the bodies surrounding them; none of them were anyone she knew, and she had long since lost the energy to care about the nameless masses. That would come later, but for now she could only care about Qrow and the trail in front of her.

It was obvious from the way her trail moved through crumbling alleys and buildings that Raven knew she was being hunted.. The city took on an eerie quiet as Ruby continued on, only a few muted fires sputtered in hidden alcoves. The heaven’s scream had taken the very air from most of the city, and silence took the fire’s place.What air remained was stagnant and choked with the smell of burnt corpses and smoke. Qrow turned a corner and stopped.

Ruby followed and brought Crescent Rose to bear. On the far left end of the street Raven leaned against the crumbled remains of a building, clutching her wounded shoulder. She had become pale, and despite her best efforts her wounded arm shook as it clutched her sword’s sheath. A witcher stood directly between them. Tall and imposing, he stood at complete ease in the middle of the street, silver hair gently waving in the breeze. Piercing yellow cat eyes took them both in at a glance, the Witcher remaining as stoic as the stone around him, mouth a tight line encased in beard born of weeks of hard traveling. His studded armor pieces reflected a small glow in the dying firelight. One sword protruded from his back, the other lay nestled in his hand. Yellow runes ran the length of the blade in a script Ruby didn’t recognize.

As she studied him, he examined her. Ruby couldn’t help but remember Kaer Morhen, how emotionless Witchers remained even in the heat of combat. They were unnatural, freaks and killers.

She was surprised when Qrow didn’t attack the mutant, but addressed him, the faintest edge of respect entering his voice. “Geralt of Rivia, The Butcher of Blaviken.”

“In the flesh.” His voice betrayed no emotion.

“I don’t suppose you’d step aside.”

“You’d suppose correctly.”

Qrow made no move to advance, and Ruby shot him a confused glance. He met her gaze and shook his head. Ruby scowled at him, and glanced back at Geralt, who continued to observe without emotion. Ruby recalled one of her classes right before the siege, specifically about Witchers, and what Monstrum had mentioned.

“We’ll pay you, more than whatever she’s offering if you step aside.” Ruby turned towards Geralt, who firmly affixed his stare to her eyes.

His eyes dripped contempt, and his voice matched. “I’m not doing this for money.”

“Then why…” Ruby started.

Qrow cut her off, “Ruby.”

“Pretty big risk, wonder why you decided to help her.” Qrow continued, glaring over the witcher’s shoulder towards Raven.

“You know why.” Geralt’s voice might have been stone for all it wavered.

Qrow nodded, almost to himself as he grabbed his flask and took a swig. “Yeah, I do. Wonder what you offered her for her help.”

“As if I needed another reason.” Raven said from across the street, gritting her teeth as she adjusted her limp arm.

“Cut the shit, Raven, maybe you came here just to get another shot at Oz, but there’s no way in hell you came here just for her. Not without an ulterior motive. You had 15 years, and you chose now of all times?” Qrow spat on a piece of concrete.

A flash of color crossed Raven’s cheeks. Ruby couldn’t tell if it was shame or anger, but Raven’s good hand tightened on her sword’s sheath. “At least I wasn’t in the same fucking city, either ignorant or too drunk to care.”

Ruby hadn’t seen Qrow ever lose his cool, but that remark pushed him over the edge. He was halfway down the street, Harbinger raised when Geralt met him. His sword crashed into Harbinger, the witcher’s strength overpowering Qrow as he shoved him back. Qrow didn’t advance again, his eyes turning bright crimson as he met Raven’s gaze. “Get out of my sight, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Is that any way to speak to your family?”

“We aren’t family.”

“We never were. After dad left the only family you cared about was the bottle.” Raven spat on the ground and kept walking, back held straight as she turned the corner.

Qrow drove Harbinger into the ground in frustration, the blade cracking the stone and kicking up a small cloud of dust. Ruby took a few steps towards him, concern and frustration warring. Why hadn’t he kept after Raven? Surely the two of them could have killed this Witcher. The Witcher himself stood a few feet away, sword sheathed and arms crossed. Qrow paused for a moment, before reaching into his belt pouch and withdrawing something.

He gripped a slender leather sheath, the hilt well worn and polished. It was a trophy knife; Ruby recognized it from back at Kaer Morhen. _Yang’s arm extended, knife arching through the air…_

Qrow walked over to Geralt, and offered the Witcher the knife. “I know it isn’t a silver blade, but I managed to grab this before the Coliseum fell in around me. Care to do me a favor and give it to her?”

Geralt stared down at the knife for a moment, before blinking and accepting the sheathed blade. “Will do.”

Qrow started to walk back towards Ruby, but stopped. “Take care of her.”  
  
“She’s in good hands.”

Qrow nodded, and kept walking. Geralt strapped the dagger to his belt and did the same.

_____________________________________________________________________  
(Yang Xiao Long)

The inn echoed with a dozen voices, all laughing, drinking, and gambling. More people entered the packed common room, jostling for places to sit and yelling for drinks. The only place of interest for several miles, the inn attracted many patrons nestled as it was between Temeria, Vale, and Brugge. Several torches cast a homely light on the room, reflecting off of tankards, stacked coins, and swords. Soldiers, merchants, farmers, and hunters all exchanged coin and tales of the road under the watchful eye of a wolf’s head mounted above the bar. Amid the chaos the innkeeper’s wife and two hired servers darted between tables and groups, calls for more ale filling the room. It was such a crowded night that almost nobody paid any attention to the Witcher playing gwent in the corner by the stairs.

Yang smiled, and adjusted her cards, spare hand instinctively grabbing for the space where her medallion would hang. Two Atlesian specialists flanked a Drake School Witcher, with a spy rounding out her hand. As far as Gwent goes, it wasn’t a terrible hand for round 2. The farmer across from her frowned, his weathered face peering at the table between them. His cards weren’t half bad, especially for someone who probably hadn’t traveled more than two miles from the village his whole life. He played another Temerian Commando, the second this round. Yang reached over and took another drink from her tankard. Cool rye filled her mouth, she had to hand it to the innkeep, he had good stock.

“Your play.” The farmer gestured to the table, and Yang consulted her hand.

She already had one win under her belt, so she played the spy. It left the farmer with a clear advantage in strength, but she got 2 more precious cards. She couldn’t help but grin as she drew into an Atlesian Golem and General before passing the turn into an auto loss. A few of the men at the table behind her laughed at a crude jest before gesturing for more spirit. The barmaid rushed over with a fresh round of ale. Yang glanced at her own mug as she flicked through her cards, only a few mouthfuls remained at most, not enough to keep the pleasant warmth in her stomach. She raised her tankard and beckoned the barmaid over. The girl glanced at Yang’s raised tankard with wide eyes, and almost tripped over her dress as she approached. The girl wouldn’t meet her eyes as Yang traded a few coppers for the fresh mug, Her hand shook as Yang dropped the coins into it, and the girl quickly wiped her hand against her dress after depositing them in a small pocket.

Yang rolled her eyes as the girl moved on to the table behind her, and glanced at her hand. The farmer across from her ran a hand through his beard, and played a catapult. “Bad times when superstition taints good coin.”

Yang played her Golem to tie. The farmer frowned and consulted his hand while she took another drink. Her eyes scanned the room over the brim of her tankard. A few more men pushed through the door, stained leather scabbards at their sides. They wore a mix of chain and leather, all of it stained with blood. They were hard men, and acted like it. Each surveyed the room as they moved towards one of the few open tables left, hands always within short distance of the knives at their belts.

“Not many farmers take a dim view on superstition.” Yang watched the group of men settle into their table, nursing a few wounds. Two separated from the group and approached the barkeep, returning the baleful glances thrown their way. Even with her superhuman hearing their words were lost in the cacophony between Yang and the bar. The farmer snorted and played his trump, Triss Merigold.

Yang frowned and played her trump, the Drake School Witcher, bringing her score 4 above the farmer’s. “There’s superstition and then there’s hogwash. Our village’s cunning woman taught me the difference. Now meself, I know to salt the door and leave the fields at noon. But gold is gold, witcher’s or not. The local lord himself paid the Witcher who dealt with the devil that were haunted our well, and I know that gold was good as any.”

The farmer took a drink and played a command horn on his catapult, bringing his score up to 4 over hers. Yang played one of her Atlesian specialists, tying the game. Outside the inn she heard hoofbeats, enough for a large number of horses. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a few other more sober patrons glance at the door, several hand’s drifting towards whatever knives they had on their person. After several seconds the door swung open, and a dozen more men pushed their way into the inn. Most wore cloaks, damp and muddy from hard riding. A few carried bows, and Yang saw a few sheaths poking out from beneath their cloaks. A hush fell over the inn, the already seated mercenaries and soldiers sizing up the newcomers as the commoners glanced around at the palpable tension.

The farmer played his last card, a clear weather, and Yang revealed her hand and pocketed the two crowns. “Think it’s time to head home.” She whispered to the farmer, who grimaced.

“Aye, looks like it.”

The mercenaries pushed into the inn, moving towards the innkeeper. People cleared out of their path, most of the village peasants abandoning their drink and games to move for the door. The farmer joined them, giving Yang one last nod before slipping out the door. The newcomers kept surveying the inn, as if expecting trouble. A few glanced at Yang, one whispered something to his comrade who sported a ridiculously wide brimmed cap underneath his cloak’s hood.

Without the noise, Yang was able to make out what they were saying to the innkeeper. “Rooms for 30.”

The innkeeper had spine, and his mouth formed a hard line even in front of a dozen armed men. “You’re driving away good coin.”

One of the men gave a low chuckle, and began cleaning his fingers with a belt knife. “Our coin’s as good as any, so long as the same goes for your booze.”

The innkeeper crossed his arms, and frowned at the men. Near the door the barmaid and the innkeeper’s wife exchanged nervous glances. Yang watched as a few of the soldiers muttered among themselves, casting glances towards the newcomers. Most wore Temerian colors, likely a border patrol taking liberties with their duties for a night. “Maeybe so, but I ain’t got room.”

“Then some of us will sleep in the stable. We just want a roof over our head and some preferably edible food. We’ll be gone by morning.”

The innkeeper mulled it over, before relenting with a small scowl. “Fine. Just keep to yerselves.”

The mercenaries sat down, and soon some semblance of normality overtook the inn. Yang kept to her corner, nursing her rye while the soldiers around her continued to grumble. They kept glancing at the group of mercenaries. If they noticed, they gave no sign, instead playing cards and muttering to themselves. The innkeeper and his wife retreated to behind the bar, while the barmaid bounced between the mercenary tables, keeping the ale flowing.

After about an hour, Yang could hear the tension in the room. The soldiers’ hearts beat like drums in their chests, rapid and taut. It was at that moment that 5 more mercenaries entered the inn. The first thing Yang noticed was one of the cloaked mercenaries had two swords sticking out over his shoulder. Several of the soldiers noticed too, and everything seemed to boil over at once. One rose to his feet, hands on the short sword at his belt, ale dripping down his beard.

“I’ll not sleep under the same roof as mutants and bandits.” A soldier spat on the ground, his comrades rising to their feet around him.

“Stable’s out back,” A mercenary said, increasing his contribution to the pile of coins gathering at the center of the table.

“Ye better shut your fucking gob.” A soldier spat. Three of his fellows drew their short swords, the ring of steel carrying over the stillness of the inn.

One of the mercenaries sighed and threw down his hand. “Shit. Looks like you were right, Madle. Didn’t think they’d have the balls.”

“They don’t. One slipped out back while back, got friends.” Another rose to his feet, his wide brimmed hat ridiculously oversized, voice croaking and withered.

A few soldiers flashed wolves’ grins. The mercenaries rose to their feet, faces grim. Some twenty soldiers stared across at the fifteen mercenaries. The Witcher’s hand drifted towards his sword, and for a moment everything was calm. Yang watched as the innkeeper’s face lifted, the slight hope that both parties wouldn’t go through with it flaring up inside him. Superstition, pride, and greed were against him. The soldiers were drunk and had already issued the challenge. For the soldiers to back down was to admit themselves inferior to the mutant freaks and other soldiers. If they won, they might also get some coin….

The soldiers’ rush was surprisingly coordinated. The mercenaries acted fast, splitting into two fronts to face both of the advancing clumps of soldiers. Two Mercenaries overturned their tables, sending ale and tankards onto the floor between them and the soldiers. The Witcher waited another moment, allowing the soldiers to close. As the first vaulted, his hand thrust forward, fingers already tracing Aard into the sky. The blast sent the soldiers toppling, and shattered Yang’s hopes of avoiding the fight. The residual backward ripple of the sign sent the Witcher’s cloak rippling. The hood parted for a split second, revealing piercing yellow eyes and an angular beauty Yang would recognize anywhere.

Yang’s knife was buried in one soldier’s throat before any consciousness thoughts occurred. Why was Blake here? What was she doing with these mercenaries? That didn’t matter, the only thing that did was that people were trying to kill her. The soldiers were close together, drunk, and focused in a different direction. Yang’s charge went unopposed, killing two before they knew what was happening. Their reaction was further complicated as Yang cast Yrden, bringing the soldiers movement down to a fraction of what it normally was. Yang grabbed a soldier’s arm as he thrust and twisted, pulling it taunt before kicking down at his knee, breaking it. He crumpled.

Blake and two of the mercenaries joined the mess, daggers bared. It was a quick fight. The soldiers’ advance was broken. Slow and uncoordinated, they posed no real threat. Yang eviscerated one, drove another’s head into the edge of an overturned table, and broke another’s arm in three places. The mercenaries were efficient and ruthless, blades dripping crimson as the soldiers fell. Yang watched Blake kick a soldier’s throat and heard his larynx cave in. The soldier dropped, and then another straggler was on her. Yang side-stepped his slash, and deflected his follow up punch, before driving her knee into his groin. Her knife met his eye before the man could scream. Only a few remained, and they died quickly. Yang cut one throat and backed away, eyes scanning for new threats. Her back connected with something solid, the distinctive profile of twin sheathes pressed against her back.

Blake didn’t step away, but leaned back, just like old times. Together they surveyed the room. 10 soldiers around them, all dead or broken. On the other side of the room, the rest of the mercenaries were wiping their blades on the dead. One soldier bled from a gash in his side. The innkeeper and his wife looked on in horror and disgust, eyes lingering on where the blood was seeping into the wooden floors. A few travelers either too stupid or too stubborn to leave tried to shrink into their respective corners.

A mercenary kicked one of the wounded soldiers over. The soldier clutched his broken arm, still staring at the shorter man with unbridled hatred. “Madle, Fish, cover the door. Weaver, Smoke, the back. How much time do we have, Goblin?”

The mercenary with the ridiculous hat frowned for a moment before answering. “Minute, tops. They’re debating on firing the inn.”

“Guess they figure their friends didn’t make it.”

“Or they aren’t friends.”

“Right,” The mercenary turned back to the soldier at his feet and placed his boot on his broken arm. “How many did your friend bring?”

“Fuck off.” The soldier spat on the mercenary’s boot. His face never changed, he only pushed his weight forward and into the soldier’s broken arm. The soldier’s grimace gave way to a grunt, then a shout.

“How many?” He repeated.

“Enough to bury ye.” The soldier managed to grin through the pain.

One of the mercenaries, Fish, called out to the interrogator, “Here they come, looks like a lot of them.”

The doors tore open just as the mercenary’s blade pierced the soldier’s neck.

4 men met the coming tide, swords thrusting forward. Yang watched as the soldiers tried to force their way inside, getting stuck on their own dead as the doorway filled. Soon the sound of people dying came from the back of the inn, Weaver and Smoke repulsing the expected feint attack. Blake gave Yang a small glance, which Yang could only respond with a nod. She knew what Blake was suggesting, and moved to the front door. Though unable to directly staunch the rapidly waning tide of human bodies, she could act as a last resort.

It wasn’t needed. After a few minutes whatever soldiers and bandits weren’t dead decided in the name of self preservation to lose interest. Corpses filled the inn’s doorway. One of the mercenaries was on the floor, clutching at his chest. Another mercenary walked over and inspected him, removing a small kit from his belt. Several of his comrades went about other business with a routine familiarity, executing wounded soldiers and stripping them of coin.

Blake returned and sheathed her knife, then turned to embrace Yang.. It was sudden, completely unlike Blake, and warmer than even the booze in Yang’s gut..

“I thought you died.” Her voice was a coarse whisper against Yang’s ear.

One of Blake’s arms tightened around Cellica’s sheath and the other around Yang’s lower back, pulling her close. Blake’s body pressed against hers, it was comforting. She didn’t feel the leather, the buckles, the snout of Blake’s medallion pressed against the spot where hers would normally hang; she only felt Blake’s presence. For the first time in months Yang felt entirely at peace. Time hung frozen, enraptured just as Yang was. One of her arms wrapped around Gambol and Shroud’s sheaths, the other looping under Blake’s arm.

“I’m here.” Yang’s voice was low, almost hesitant amidst the prying eyes. At her words Blake sagged against her, a great burden falling from her shoulders.

Blake’s cheek brushed against hers, sending a small shiver through Yang’s spine. “I…” Her voice caught, and Yang translated what silence couldn’t say. Yang tightened her embrace.

She heard the whispers. The mutters of curses and disbelief and superstition. She saw them making gestures of warding off evil spirits and black conjuring. She could feel their judgement, their anger and revulsion at the two mutants embracing in a room covered with corpses. She didn’t care. She just closed her eyes and breathed deep the scent of her friend, before reluctantly stepping away.

Yang might have imagined it, but she could’ve sworn a touch of color tinted Blake’s cheeks before she turned towards the door. “Horses need stabling.”

Yang followed, leaving a few mercenaries behind to clean out the pockets of the dead they had unstuffed from the doorway. The outside of the inn wasn’t in much better shape. Several more mercenaries with bows were picking through the bags of those soldiers with horses, otherwise a few games of knives had popped up. Yang glanced at Blake, how had she gotten mixed up with them?

“Interesting company you have.”

“They were hired to clear out a forest of bandits.” Blake didn’t look back, instead focused on leading Adam by the reign.

“And?”

Yang could hear Blake’s small smile, “They were smart enough to recognize the signs of a griffin’s nest on the way in. Hired help.”

The stable was still relatively calm, a lone torch flickering in the evening glow as they approached. A single bale of hay lay stacked by the door, rusted pitchfork resting on top of it. Yang followed Blake as she pushed the stable door in and brought Adam inside. After the fight, there were plenty of open spaces. Yang leaned against a post as Blake set about making sure Adam was clean and fed. For a moment neither said a word, Yang content to bask in the afterglow of Blake’s embrace, Blake focused on a particularly difficult clump in Adam’s mane. Her hands were slow and methodical, taking care as she worked. Her eyes narrowed and Yang watched her work the problem from several angles. How someone could remain so graceful while grooming a horse she would never know.

“So why did you think I was dead?” Yang couldn’t hold the question in any longer, “I was fine back in Novigrad.”

Blake glanced over Adam for a moment, her yellow eyes staring at Yang as if to make sure she was there before continuing. “I found your bloody witcher’s medallion in that Griffin’s nest.” Blake reached into her armor and fished out a second medallion. Yang reached over and grabbed it, not failing to notice how Blake’s hand lingered for a second before pulling back.

Yang watched the silver wolf’s head spin in the torchlight, glinting along the scar over its right eye. A memento from an alp that almost killed her a few years back, it made the crimson eyes take a bloodshot hue. Yang reached out with one hand and accepted the medallion, running a gloved finger over its contours. She admired it for a moment before sliding the chain over her neck, medallion falling back into place with a familiar weight.

“Thought I’d never see this again. Lost it in a card game with a wandering mirror merchant.” Yang remembered that man still, his grin was a grin of a man best avoided. He always acted like he knew what was in her hand, too.

“Guess griffins don’t play cards.” Blake loosened Adam’s harness and gave the horse a final pat of reassurance. “Though we never found any glass or mirrors in the nest.” Yang shrugged, and made for the stable door.

“He cheated anyway. Come on, I want to hear all about how you managed to keep busy while in mourning.” Yang smiled at Blake, who raised an eyebrow and smiled in her own way.

“I suppose I haven’t had a good rye in a while. Hopefully the innkeeper didn’t get blood in it.”

For the first time, conscious of it or not. Yang felt the slightest sliver of peace, even if it was just a dream of the past.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks for reading!
> 
> So this chapter got re-worked several times in several ways. I ultimately settled on the Yang dreaming of the Past so that I could show some more of Blake and Yang's 7 years of Path bonding, and because I wasn't ready to write the scene where Yang wakes up with Blake in her bed. I'd appreciate any feedback you have, and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter
> 
> Cheers!


	17. Disorientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang wakes up to Blake against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory this will never die. Sorry for the wait guys/girls/bots, Holidays got the better of me. I hope some of you are still here, I always feel bad making you wait this long, but I don't want to put out bad content either.
> 
> Damned if you do, Damned if you don't.
> 
> Anywho, I had a time writing this chapter. I wanted to focus on the emotions on both sides, and start to work on Bees a bit more concretely. You heard me, after 17 chapters Bees is starting. I maybe should add slow burn to the tags. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, you have no idea how much it means to be able to practice my craft and give even a few people something hopefully enjoyable to read. You all mean so much, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

(Yang, Vale Forests)

Yang woke with a start, heart racing. The tent slowly came into focus around her, the faintest of light trickling in from the open flap. The sound of groaning and complaining drifted in from outside, as Raven’s men tramped by. Yang ignored all that; what immediately caught her attention was the pile of armor carelessly strewn on the floor. Twin sheaths poked out of the pile, hilts showing their years of wear, gleaming dully in the sunlight. They rested atop a leather and mail jacket not unlike Yang’s own, except her armor was back at…

Panic surged through her veins, Yang’s heart racing. Her skin was on fire, she felt each rusted hook carving into her flesh. Blood pooled in her mouth, coppery and bitter. Her vision swam, each second adding a new layer to the agony. Her skin stripped away, peeled away with deliberate care, her blood warm as it ran down her skin and pooled at her feet. The smell harsh enough to make her eyes water, a miasma of pus and bile that clung to her. The chains digging into her arms, her wrists raw and infected as she hung like a pig in a butcher’s shop. Head limp, legs dangling just inches above her own blood and excrement. 

He was here, lurking out of her sight, she smelled him, even through the foul mixture of her waste and blood. Fear and panic tightened around her chest,. She couldn’t breathe, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His excitement was palpable, she heard him brushing against something metallic, the scraping of rusted metal filling the air. Her pulse roared in her ears. He could strike at any moment with anything. Hot breath brushed against her ear, and something hard slammed into her kneecap. Yang screamed.

She tried to struggle, vision blurring as the hooks dug deeper into her flesh. The grey wall covered in knives was fuzzy, flashes of orange piercing the fog. Then she was sideways, something holding onto her tightly as she struggled, something…warm?

“Yang. Yang! It’s okay, it’s me, Blake. You’re alright,” Blake’s voice was a strained whisper in Yang’s ear. 

Yang stopped struggling, panting hard. Blake drew her in close, warm against her back, arms wrapping around her shoulders and stomach slowly. “Blake? Why…what are you doing here?” Everything was confusing, why was Blake in her bed? What was going on? 

“You were having a night terror,” Blake trailed off for a few seconds, breathing softly against Yang’s neck. “I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Yang struggled to keep her breathing even, her heart was still racing. That had felt so real, so vivid. Her throat ached, and her tongue felt brittle against the roof of her mouth. She should get up and find something to drink, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Blake’s shirt was warm and soft, her breathing a pleasant breeze on the nape of her neck. Yang sighed, skin flush where Blake’s arms had wrapped around her. She was so close, Yang could feel every curve and scar on Blake’s chest. They had shared rooms on the Path before, but not like this. This was different, personal. She tried to tell herself this wasn’t any different, but it still felt almost wrong. Yang still couldn’t bring herself to rise. 

Blake made no move to get up. They lay there in silence for a time, Yang’s heart still racing. Blake was her friend, did friends… do this? She didn’t know, was this all just another trick? Lydia’s bloody corpse flashed in front of her, Yang’s stomach flipped, it felt like someone had driven a warhammer into her gut. Blake’s expression of anguish, her primal cry of loss ringing out over the laughter of the camp. That wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, this couldn’t be real. 

Yang slowly untangled herself, goosebumps traveling up her skin. She felt disoriented, the tent not entirely in focus. She reached out and steadied herself on the small end table. “Yang, are you alright?” 

Blake’s voice was quiet, and she heard a rustling of sheets from behind her. Yang inhaled, hand gripping the table’s edge like a crutch. “Why are you doing this to me?” What did she want this time? Why torment her this way? 

“Doing what?” Blake’s voice was closer now, footfalls silent even to her ears. “I’m sorry I…I couldn’t wake you and…” 

Everything was wrong. Yang closed her eyes, and opened them to a sharper world. “I gave you what you wanted.” She turned, staring Emerald’s illusion in the eyes. They were wide, barely moving as Blake’s mouth opened a fraction. Her ears were curled at the tip, cheeks flush, her heartbeat racing alongside Yang’s as the world unhinged itself. “Why…toy with me like this, show me her.” Blake looked so real, so lifelike. 

But she had looked that way as Yang held her in the forest, her eyes still caught the moonlight and sparkled when she was dying in Yang’s arms. Her body had the same lithe grace when she drove Yang’s head into the wall. Even now, Blake felt so real, so close. “Just end it, please…”

Blake was pressed against her before Yang could protest, arms pulling her close. “I’m real, Yang. You’re free, it’s over.” 

Yang closed her eyes, whimpering as the not-Blake pulled her close. Just like her dream…had that been a separate vision? “You aren’t real. You can’t be real.” She couldn’t breathe, she wanted to push away rather than play Emerald’s game. But… “How do I know…”

Blake held on tighter, several seconds passed in silence before she spoke. “I don’t know.” Her voice was low, Yang could hear it quaver, even as Blake sought to hide it. 

Blake let go, stepping back. Yang wanted to reach out, say something but her words caught in her throat. Everything was scattered, confused. She felt trapped, drowning in open air. The tent closed in around her, the warmth and confusion in her chest as she tried to avoid not-Blake’s eyes. The laughter and crashing of blades from outside, everything beating into her head. It wouldn’t stop throbbing, Yang clenched her fists, Mercury’s sadistic chuckle burrowed into her ears, almost driving her to her knees. She had to go, to escape somehow. Yang brushed past her not-friend, desperately trying to avoid her eyes. She only stopped to grab Ember, grasping the worn leather sheath like a lifeline. 

“Yang, wait. Where are you going?” Yang closed her eyes, trying to ignore the surprise and pain in Blake’s voice. 

Blake didn’t follow, and Yang found herself standing next to Bumblebee, tightening the saddle in silence. Birds sang in the trees around her, and Adam watched her work with somber eyes. Ember felt hollow on her back without Cellica beside it. Yang pulled herself into the saddle, and flicked the reigns. Bumblebee pulled into a trot, but that wasn’t fast enough. Yang could still see, feel Cinder’s chuckle behind her. Yang gritted her teeth, she needed to pull herself together. She drove her knees into Bumblebee’s side. 

Bumblebee surged forward, hooves crashing down onto muddy ground. Yang leaned forward, feeling the trees race past her. Animals screeched and fled as rider and horse tore through the countryside. She had broken, she had failed… 

It wasn’t fast enough. Branches sliced at her shirt, Yang ignored them and drove her knees into Bumblebee again. Her horse accelerated, chest heaving. His mouth foamed against the reins. The wind howled in Yang’s ears, screeching at her from every knot and knoll of bark they passed. It leered at her, grabbing her hair from its lair among the leaves. Yang could feel her pulse racing, breath ragged. She urged Bumblebee faster, body bouncing as she clung to her horse. 

Even as trees and bushes flew past and were trampled underfoot, the wind harsh enough to make Yang’s eyes water, she could still hear it. Mercury’s laughter, the sloshing of the bucket…

Bumblebee was frothing at the mouth, chest heaving. Yang knew this was hurting her horse, her companion, but right then she didn’t care. It didn’t matter, Bumblebee was likely dead, and she could still hear Blake’s screams. Bumblebee’s left hoof struck a gnarled tree root, and the horse went down screaming, throwing Yang in the process.

Yang was sent flying, twisting in mid-air, hands moving before her mind could react. Quen flared to life, yellow glow enveloping her right before her back hit something hard. 

 

(Blake Belladonna, Vale Forests)

Blake sat silently, watching the flames twist and dance in front of her. Shadows flickered and twirled across the clearing and the tents, a mixture of longing and loathing in how they intertwined. She breathed in slowly, ears twitching. There was nothing to say. Even if the mercenary and his comrades were on their knees in front of her, there would be no pleas to hear. Her hands moved of their own accord, picking up Gambol from where it lay in front of her knees. Ran her hand along its hilt, the worn material familiar against her palm. She felt nothing.

Nothing but hate.

The pot sitting above the fire sat bubbling, the paste and water inside already frothing. She reached down and picked up the Hanged Man’s Venom from her side. The vial was cool in her hand, the green liquid slowly lapping at the sides of the vial as she inspected it. It was already lethal, as sharp and quick as any well placed knife. That wasn’t enough; she wanted it to hurt. Her teeth clenched as she poured the poison into the pot with mechanical precision, stirring as it sparked with the paste. She wanted to hear them scream as Yang had screamed in her sleep. They couldn’t just die, they all had to die in agony. 

Her anger wasn’t hot, not anymore. The passion and roaring fury that had filled her body with such fire and desperate aching like a lover’s tender touch had fled. It had been replaced by ice, searing cold and certainty as she looked at Yang’s scars and haunted eyes that didn’t even see her. Blake was going to kill every single huntsman who had helped break her…her friend. It didn’t matter how long it took, where they were or who they were, they were all as good as dead. They had extinguished the brightest light in her life. She would hunt them down and gut them like dogs. 

The wind blew through her hair, carrying with it the scent of meat and smoke, the camp around her preparing to feast. Ignoring it, she gently added in the Bloodmoss and Fool’s parsley. Her concoction hissed, a faint vapor rising from it. The flames seemed to stretch out, stroking the underside of the pot like one would soothe a wailing child. Yang’s eyes stared out at her from within the flames, sparkling in the fire. Those purple depths overtaken by terror and horrible pain. She said nothing to those eyes; there was nothing she could say to her friend to make things right. 

The pot darkened into an eldritch green as the Quebirth and Green Mold sank into the writhing mixture, swirling as they dissolved. The huntsman she slaughtered flashed in front of her eyes as the stench of her oil grew more potent, it smelled like the recent dead unearthed. She didn’t smile, but that insatiable pit in her heart stirred, icy tendrils of grief wrapping around her arm as she added in the last ingredient, Devourer’s blood. Geralt hadn’t said a word when she asked, he had just looked into her eyes. Perhaps he saw the grief, perhaps the desperation, maybe the helplessness. Or maybe he had saw the only thing that remained, wrath. 

Nothing but wrath. 

A raven squawked from its perch on the log opposite her, but she ignored it. Instead, her hand curled tight around Gambol’s sheath. A single clarion note filled the clearing as she drew it. She barely recognized her eyes as she met them in the reflection of Gambol’s blade. Did that matter? Yang no longer recognized her anyway. She settled the blade against her knee, and grabbed her whetstone. 

Snck.

She had done this before, but never with such piercing rage. It was no longer preparing for a job, it was penance. The muscle memory from a thousand repetitions took over, her hands mindlessly dragging the stone across her blade again. 

Snck.

She kept sharpening, expertly tilting and adjusting Gambol. Her thoughts wandered back to Cardin, the names he gave in the desperate bid for death after she castrated him. No nausea took hold as she thought back to that tent, only a crystal focus at those names Cardin had marked for death. She hadn’t been sure of her conviction when she asked for those that were at Kaer Morhen, so she hid those names away. Her conviction no longer wavered. Weiss Schnee…

Snck. 

She flipped the blade over, and kept sharpening. Ruby Rose…

Snck.

The sister Yang talked so fondly about, the wistfulness and far off look in her eyes whenever they were alone in Kaer Morhen’s dorms. Now she helped do this to her own sister. It was worse than murder. That name stood out, a raw wound grating against her mind as she kept sharpening, each name a promise. Vesemir wouldn’t approve. Geralt didn’t, but he understood. Neo might…but no. She needed, no…wanted to do this alone. She had let Yang walk in alone, so she would do this alone. 

After several minutes, she let the whetstone drop. Gambol’s razor sharp edge flickered in the firelight as she examined her handiwork. Satisfied, she returned Gambol to its sheath beside her knee. Smoke curled as it rose from the pot, the mixture heating the vial she poured it into. The sickly green liquid swirled in the vial of its own accord, almost as if eager to burrow into the flesh and blood of Yang’s abusers. Even now the ice chill didn’t leave her heart, the only thing that stirred it was those faint moments when the fog around Yang cleared. Those moments when she could see the woman Yang was…before it all slipped away again. 

Yang wasn’t here, so the chill never wavered. Not when she slid the potion home. Not when she strapped three grapeshot bombs to her belt. Not when she slid the final devotion back into its place at her waist. It didn’t waver as Gambol settled next to Shroud on her back. Her breathing was the only sound in the clearing for a moment. 

Only now did she decide to speak, her ritual complete. “I’m going to make them all pay.” It wouldn’t happen immediately, but she would find them all eventually. She had decades, and nothing was going to deter her.

A raven squawked from right behind her ear. She stepped back and turned, coming eye to eye with Raven Branwen, who hadn’t made a sound. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Writing PTSD is never easy, so I hope I stayed true enough to what I've researched. Always looking for feedback there, and anything you can give would be so appreciated.
> 
> I wanted to really start to focus on Blake's reactions to Yang now, given that we've had some time to get everyone out of the action...for now. Thoughts there are also needed and welcome.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed it, if not, please feel free to tell me why. Tough love is the best love.
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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